


Choice or Chance

by theheartbelieves



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Drunken Kissing, Feelings, From Sex to Love, Hank POV, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Public Sex, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, but not really, humans and androids aren't so different after all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-12 12:53:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15995627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theheartbelieves/pseuds/theheartbelieves
Summary: de·vi·ateverbˈdēvēˌāt/1. depart from an established course.Lovers Path Unlocked^^^





	1. The Bridge

**Author's Note:**

> This will probably turn into a series of chronological HankCon drabbles as I continue to play this trash fire of a game, but I'm not ruling out Simkus or Reed900 sneaking their way into here too. We were robbed of romantic options gdi.
> 
> Feel free to follow me over on Twitter Jericho @socanneverdie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Branching AU beginning with The Bridge chapter and a favorable relationship with Hank.

He leaves the android in the car without saying anything. Hank knows he’ll- No, not he- it.  _It_ will follow him. It always does. So why bother telling it to stay? If he’s honest with himself, a small, sad part of him wants the company even if it’s not real company.

“No better than a dog,” he mutters as he climbs up and perches on the bench back, overlooking the water. His ass immediately starts to go numb as the wood digs into his thigh muscles. He puts down his six-pack, pops the cap on the first beer, and takes a long swig. It won’t warm him up but it’ll sure as hell make it easier to ignore the chill and discomfort.

Hell, he’s still feeling his earlier binge from before Connor dragged him to the Eden club. He tries not to think about how long it’s been since he’s been completely sober. Too long. He’s become accustomed to walking through the world in a sort of numb haze, punctuated only by flashes of lucid anger and more impenetrable stupors. But the last true moment of clarity... Hank can’t recall.

He hunkers into his coat and stares out. It’s not the view he’s seeing though, it’s those girls - the Tracis - that occupy his mind. Their fight on the loading dock of the club had been… intense. He remembers seeing the splash of blue blood in the corner of his eye and the sudden, sharp fear - so close to panic - that had lanced through him. The frustration that had slammed into him - that he couldn’t run to help, to protect his stupid partner - had weakened both his focus and his limbs.

It wasn’t until later, standing on shaking legs, that Hank realised how close both of them had come to being seriously injured, if not killed. And then Connor hadn’t shot them. He could have shot them, Hank’s sure of that. Why hadn’t he shot them?

_It’s probably better this way…_

He’d been forced to turn and walk away, overwhelmed by the experience. They weren’t fucking alive! Hank knew this intellectually, but emotionally…

He shakes his head and drains the rest of the bottle. He’s not nearly drunk enough for this.

He makes his way through the next two bottles and has started on his fourth before he hears the door of his car open. The click of it being gently shut is loud in the snow-silent park. A strange, tense anticipation shivers up his spine and he resists turning to look.

“Fucking android…” he mutters, biting the noun between his molars, but in his head he thinks  _Connor_. He closes his eyes and sees the splash of blue again. He grits his teeth in irritation. “Motherfucking android.”

The snow crunches under Connor’s precise, measured steps as he approaches, but then they slow and hesitate as he comes up beside Hank. So human but too perfect to ever actually be human. He opens his eyes.

He’s not going to look at him. He’s not. He stubbornly stares straight forward and waits for the android to break the silence. His earlier spark of excitement has turned to dread in his stomach. He drinks hoping to drown it. In the corner of his eye, he can see the soft blue pulse of Connor’s LED.

Fuck it...

“Nice view, huh? I used to come here a lot before…” Hank hates how chatty he gets a few beers in. Which is why he prefers Jimmy’s - where people leave him alone to get lost in his own thoughts - or home - where he can let the sadness sweep him under without fear of judgement.

But then: enter Connor.

Connor and his silent fucking judgement, his eyes always following Hank,  _him_ always following Hank.

He’d burst into Hank’s life - and  _house_ \- and upset everything. It hadn’t been much, but it had been his, and it had been predictable and safe. More importantly, there’d been an end in sight for Hank. The disruption of his routine, of his downward spiral, has muddied the waters of his simple life.

He wonders if Connor will just ignore it: the way he’d found Hank. He doesn’t want to talk about it - they’d  _already_ talked too much about it for Hank’s liking - but he wasn’t going to fool himself into thinking that the android didn’t remember. Hank knows he saw the gun - had asked about it - and that he probably saw-

“Can I ask you a personal question, Lieutenant?”

 _Fuck_ , Hank thinks.  _Please don’t ask about Cole. Not now, you plastic piece of shit. Not tonight. Just let me have a moment’s peace here, with you, this view…_

He looks at the android and his stupid, appealing face. He hates how it tugs at him. He hates how every damn detail of Connor tugs at him - down to the way he’s crossed his arms over his chest in the cold and the random spattering of moles on his otherwise perfect skin.

“Do all androids ask so many personal questions or is it just you?” But predictably, the beautiful face stays smooth and blank. Which is why Hank isn’t ready for what Connor asks him.

“Why are you so determined to kill yourself?” His expression is neutral but his voice… his voice… He sounds like he cares.

Hank turns back forward. He can’t look at Connor while that voice comes out of such a mask.

“Somethings I just can’t forget. Whatever I do, they’re always there… Eating away at me…” Suddenly, Hank has the urge to push this machine away. It crept in close with it’s persistence and it’s manufactured humanity, and he’d fallen for it like the utter fool he is.

“I don’t have the guts to pull the trigger… So, I kill myself a little every day… That’s probably difficult for you to understand, huh, Connor? Nothing very rational about it…” He takes a drink to put a period on it.

There’s no feeling of closure to it though. He’d inadvertently wandered far too close to the truth. He’s a coward. He knows that he probably won’t be around much longer, but he didn’t have it in him to make so final a decision, so he left it up to fate.

On the bad nights, he puts a bullet in the chamber - just one to assuage the fragile consciences of those that might care…  _after_ \- and then races to the bottom of the bottle, hoping that he’ll find the guts he needs waiting there for him.

Everything about the speech screams  _leave me alone_. Any human would have taken the hint and gone back to the car, or at the very least, shut up and let him drink in peace. He’s sure the android has already noted and logged that he was nearly through his six pack. Damn thing probably knows about the flask in his left breast pocket too.

But no. Not Connor. He can almost hear the processors… doing whatever processors do next to him.

“Before what?”

“Hm?” The bald, tenacious curiosity makes him want to throttle Connor, but he’d been the one to bring it up.

“You said ‘I used to come here a lot before.’ Before what?”

“Before…” He considers telling him. He knows he will, if pushed. He’s just the right amount of drunk to spill everything if Connor decides he wants to interrogate him. He’s also just the right amount of drunk to be sullen about it. “Before nothin’.”

Connor surprises him and drops it, walking towards the railing. Hank wants to believe Connor did it to spare him. He really fucking wants to. He wishes he could see the android’s face, but knows there would be nothing to read there.

“We’re not making any progress on this investigation. The deviants have nothing in common. They’re all different models, produced at different times, in different places…”

The change in subject nearly throws him, but when Connor looks back at him, face no longer a mask - no, not a mask at all. He looks worried and lost and pleading, like he needs Hank’s help.

“Well, there must be some link.” Fuck his life. Hank  _wants_ to help. And not just because it’s his job and he used to be so good at it. His contribution is paltry, at best. Connor turns away again and is silent for a beat.

“What they have in common is this obsession with rA9.” Connor gestures with his left hand. Hank wonders which CyberLife employee programmed that little quirk, like he has with so many of Connor’s other gesticulations.

 _Like that wink._ Hank looks at the ground instead. That wink had been cute. There was no other word for it. What CyberLife asshole had made Connor so goddamned cheeky?

“It’s almost like some kind of… myth. Something they invented that wasn’t part of their original program.” Without the distraction of Connor’s appearance, his line of thinking becomes clear. It cuts through a little of the haze in Hank’s head. He’s right. It’s the connecting thread.

“Androids believing in God…” If that’s even possible, it would open up some terrifying possibilities for their investigation. “Fuck, what’s this world coming to?”

He drinks. He can’t stop himself. The last thing he wanted to do right now was contemplate religion. Hank isn’t a believer - never really was - but he knows even thinking about belief will lead him to some dark, lonely places when he is usually able to ignore just how alone he is. Especially with Connor here; Connor and his perceptive, probing questions.

Because Hank doesn’t feel quite as lonely when he’s around. He’ll never admit it, but he likes having a partner. And not just for the companionship, but because of this - having someone to bounce ideas back and forth with.

But yes, also for the companionship. It’s been a long time since Hank has felt like someone has… cared. He knows Connor is incapable of caring but the studious way Connor looks at him makes Hank’s traitorous heart override his brain.

Fuck, he’s done it now. The gaping well of loneliness in his chest yawns wide and he thinks back to earlier. Those androids they’d tracked down-

“You seem preoccupied, Lieutenant. Is it something to do with what happened back at the Eden Club?”

 _Mind-reading son-of-a-_ Fine. Connor had pushed. Hank’s gonna push back.

“Those two girls… They just wanted to be together. They really seemed…”  _Just like you_ , he wants to say. He wants to ask Connor if he feels anything. But he’s too scared to know. He is too drunk to handle the man’s particular brand of frank honesty.

“In love,” he says instead, realising after a second that he means it. That’s exactly the impression he got - what his gut had told him, more than their words. And he’d been glad to let them go. He hadn’t called their details into the precinct, even though they’d attacked a police officer. He wanted them to be together.

Together and in love. It’s the least they deserve after the shit they’d been through - to find someone that understands them and loves them in spite of it or even because of it. It’s the least that anyone deserves.

He looks at Connor and feels hope flutter it’s dangerous wings inside his ribcage; a trapped hope named  _Jealousy._ He wants…

“They can simulate human emotions but they’re machines. And machines don’t feel anything.”

Hank feels crushed by Connor’s chilly rationality and is suddenly irrationally angry. He lets the heat of it warm him.

“What about you, Connor?” He swigs back the last of the dregs of his beer before getting up off the bench. He wants to use his size to intimidate. He wants - he needs - something physical. He needs a confrontation. “You look human, you sound human, but what are you really?”

“I’m whatever you want me to be, Lieutenant.” And just like that, Hank feels like the wind has been knocked out of him. There’s a tiredness in Connor’s voice; a weariness.

“Your partner…”

The ground seems to shift under Hank’s feet. He feels dizzy.

“Your buddy to drink with…”

He reaches out to Connor to steady himself. When he touches Connor and the android starts a little, as if surprised to be touched. It’s so vulnerable and utterly genuine that something in Hank changes.

“Or just-”

He pulls Connor to him, into him, against him.  _What the fuck_ , a distant voice protests as he kisses his partner - his  _android_ partner - because he needs something to hold onto, because he’s lonely, because he’s drunk, and tired, and scared, and out of his depth.

 _Or just what?_ Hank wonders.

Connor is stiff, more letting himself be kissed than anything. Hank sighs, preparing to shift back. It’s not disappointment he feels, it’s a grim dissatisfaction at being right.

But then Connor comes to life, unfreezing and pushing against Hank, pressing his lips more firmly against Hank’s. He’s  _warm_. How had Hank never noticed that before? And then Hank doesn’t think much at all as Connor tilts his head and gently, deliberately licks into Hank’s mouth.

Hank can’t breathe. The world is black and he can’t tell if he has his feet under him, but it doesn’t matter because it’s been far too long since he’s properly kissed someone and this-  _this_ \- is…

_Or just-_

Connor’s mouth is hot and his tongue slides slick and shivering against Hank’s. There are distant firework thoughts of  _he sticks evidence in here_ and  _why does an android know how to kiss?_ But the louder, brighter feeling of  _Oh god, yes. This. This is what I’ve been waiting for._ comes to the forefront to whiteout everything else.

Connor pulls back.

“Lieutenant.” He presses his lips against the corner of Hank’s mouth. “Lieutenant, you must breathe.”

It’s only then that Hank feels the pounding of his heart and the empty screaming of his lungs. He sucks in air and blinks open his eyes to look into Connor’s warm brown gaze. He looks unperturbed. Unfair, considering Hank is still reeling from the best kiss he can remember and sporting a rather insistent semi.

Connor’s mouth quirks in a half, uncertain smile. “Lover, if you prefer, Lieutenant.”

“Lov-” Hank stumbles. Connor’s smile settles into something softer and more confident, but his eyes are anything but settled. They shift over Hank’s face restlessly. “Was that what you were going to say? Before…?”

Connor tilts his head, LED whirling yellow momentarily. “Before?”

“You know-” Connor’s eyes flit to Hank’s lips and damnit, if that doesn’t make his dick twitch. “You know what? Fuck it.”

He curls his fists tighter around Connor’s lapels. The fabric creaks beneath his fingers as he hauls Connor closer, lips brushing together.

“No, Lieutenant.” Connor’s voice is low and steady. “Fuck me.”

“Christ! Of course they’d program you to flirt,” Hank growls with a frustration he doesn’t feel. Something low in his gut twists at Connor’s naked boldness.

Connor turns them - the world sways under Hank - and he's suddenly being led back towards the parking lot. Connor's sudden display of strength enough of a reminder of his inhuman nature, even if he hadn't flatly stated the following: “Your blood alcohol level exceeds the limit for you to safely drive. It’s best we do this here.”

They're at the car before Hank can formulate a response. “What? Did you calculate-”

Connor spins him and he loses his balance, back hitting the side pillar of his ride. He instinctively hitches his elbows up to rest on the roof. Yeah… he’s too drunk to drive. It wouldn’t have stopped him, had Connor not pointed it out. Connor presses a palm to the centre of Hank's chest. He gestures to his mouth with his free hand.

He looks Hank dead in the eye and licks his lips - just the slightest glimpse of pink tongue. “I analysed your blood-alcohol level.”

Hank's mind stutters. Oh-  _Oh…_ When they'd kissed, Connor had-

“Jesus…” He’s too drunk for this, and yet, not nearly drunk enough to process that Connor has the brainpower - processing power - to analyse him while Hank could barely string two thoughts together. “Most people would consider that rude, you know.”

Connor drops to his knees; the move so quick and smooth that it startles Hank.

“What the-” Hank sucks in a breath. Connor’s hands are on his belt. Connor’s eyes are looking up at him, darker than he’s ever seen. Hank’s voice rasps in his throat. “What are you-”

“Hank…” Connor says softly, but the sound of his name knocks the wind out of him. No one says his name like that; fond and gentle, like Hank’s not a piece of shit. “Please, let me…”

Hank tentatively touches Connor’s shoulders, his neck, his cheek, his hair; hands alighting like nervous birds. Connor’s eyes blink irregularly at each touch.

“Yeah… okay… Okay, Con-” He’s only able to get out the first syllable before Connor’s deftly unbuckled his belt; unfastened his jeans. “Oh fuck…”

His hands hover near Connor’s head as he pulls Hank’s cock from his underwear.  _What am I doing?_ The android looks up at him through his eyelashes and Hank is struck again but the sheer, utter, flawless beauty of the man. He’d just wanted to shut him up when he kissed him, not this. He’d never even thought about Connor- about  _any_ android like-

Then Connor leans forward - eyes still locked with Hank’s - and without preamble, sinks his mouth down around Hank’s dick. He feels like he’s watching all of it happen to someone else, like he has no control over what’s happening. He hates androids. He's never let himself- Never wanted-

But fuck him if  _that_ doesn’t feel amazing.

Hank blows out a breath and has to look away from Connor’s upturned face. It’s been too long since anyone has touched him, let alone like this - perfect lips stretched tight, eyelashes fanned dark against pale skin, looking both filthy and innocent. He arches back against the car and tries not to thrust, then remembers that he can’t choke Connor. He looks up at the stars and cants his hips experimentally.  _Good. Fucking good._   _Fucking surreal but good._

Connor’s hands are wrapped around his hips, thumbs stroking his hip bones, his lower stomach. Hank is suddenly very aware of how exposed he is; pants around his thighs, shirt rucked up and belly on display. He feels a rush of embarrassment. This is a mistake.

He reaches down to push Connor away, excuses already poised on his lips. He drops his gaze, expecting the android’s sharp eyes to still be searching, studying, logging- But no.

Connor’s eyes are closed. His brow is furrowed. His LED is a persistent, strobing yellow. He looks… He looks like he’s enjoying it. Lust curls quick and tight in Hank’s groin. His hand detours and burrows into Connor’s hair instead of the intended destination of his shoulder.

Connor’s LED pulses red, he  _hums_ , and Hank is coming.

“Shit! Fuck! Connor- Oh christ!” He fists his hand in Connor’s hair - softer than he expected - and pulls Connor back slightly. The androids eyes flutter open, unfocused.

Regret hits him like a punch to the gut, like the plummet of a rollercoaster. He untangles his fingers and awkwardly smooths Connor’s hair. The android rocks back on his heels. Hank’s cock falls from his mouth. A dribble of come slides down his chin.

It’s too much.

Hank looks away, flushing and fumbling to tuck himself away. He hears Connor spit - of course, no stomach means no swallowing - and then stand. Hank feels stone-cold sober for the first time in years, his stomach a roiling turmoil of regret, disgust, desire, and anger. It’s a confusing and contradictory mishmash of raw feeling. He clutches to the last. It’s easier than trying to unpack the rest of it.

He finally meets Connor’s eyes and Hank knows that everything he’d thought the android had been feeling must have been simulated, because there’s not a single trace of emotion on Connor’s blank mask of a face.

“I hope that was satisfactory, Lieuten-”

“Shut up. We’re not going to talk about this,” he growls harshly, tugging on his shirt. “We’re never going to talk about this.”

_Yellow._

The corners of Connor’s mouth turn down. “If you insist.”

Hank’s anger flares, hot and bright in his chest. He shoves away from the car and pushes Connor back. He’s rougher than he means to be. Connor steps back, allowing himself to be pushed. There’s no reaction. Disappointment is thick and cloying on Hank’s tongue.

“You’re just a fucking machine.”

 _Yellow_.

“I am designed to accomplish a task,” Connor says, matter-of-factly. He looks so cool and calm and unruffled, as if the last few minutes had never happened. Only the darker spots on the knees of his trousers where he’d knelt in the snow were evidence that something monumental had occurred.

Hank grunts and turns. The words hurt. He hates that Connor can hurt him.

“Misson failed, then,” he mutters, rounding the car and throwing himself into the driver’s seat.

He sits there, frozen. He doesn’t know what he’s waiting for. Possibly for Connor to get into the car or for himself to apologise. But they seem to be at a detente.

Again, it’s him that caves first. He leans across the passenger seat and flings the door open. “Get in.”

Connor does, stiff and silent. The weight of what’s happened hangs heavy between them. Hank can’t see Connor’s LED. He wants to know if he’s thinking; what he’s thinking. He can’t keep his eyes from returning over and over to the wet marks on Connor’s knees.

What task had Connor been trying to accomplish?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EMOTI͡O̸NAL͟ IN͡S͢T҉A̕B̶I҉LI҉T̸Y͢
> 
> △ - remain angry  
> □ - small talk  
> O - apologise  
> x - kiss


	2. Public Enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank's forced to face the consequences of what happened between Connor and him in the sober light of day.
> 
> Life - and their case - has other plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter deals with canon events at Stratford Tower in Connor's Public Enemy chapter. Lots of references to canon, but the ripples of their actions during The Bridge are going to start be felt.
> 
> I really wanted to show that Hank's not as useless as he appears. He was once - and still has the capacity to be - a great detective. I refuse to see him as babysitter for our dear Connor.

They’re at the Stratford Tower after the androids’ pirate broadcast. It’s only been a day since they parted ways - Connor catching a taxi in front of Hank’s house without a single further word spoken between them - but now that he’s sober, the park feels like a lifetime ago.

More than that, the whole memory feels unreal. The whole incident has the aura of a fever dream.

How can Connor stand next to him in this elevator and not only seem so calm, but be playing with that damn coin? Hank’s completely on edge and the metallic ping of the silver disc is maddening. He snatches at it, but only manages to grab ahold of Connor's fingers. Connor's brown eyes meet his, dark and unreadable. Hank snatches his hand back like he's been burned.

“You’re starting to piss me off with that coin, Connor.” He knows his anger is entirely misplaced. Hank had been the one to initiate… things… last night. He should just man up and pretend that everything is fine.

Because everything  _ is  _ fine. Just fine and dandy.

“Sorry, Lieutenant,” Connor apologises with a hint of bewilderment. Great. Just great. Now Hank feels bad.

He tries not to dwell on the fact that he’s  _ Lieutenant  _ again.

“Here,” Connor says, holding the coin out, trapped between his first and middle fingers. An offering.

Just then the elevator dings. They've reached the seventy-ninth floor. Hank snags the coin and pockets it impulsively before exiting the lift. He can feel Connor's gaze on him. The back of his neck itches and he resists the urge to rub at it.

A uniformed officer greets him by name. Damned if he can remember this cop’s name though, even though he looks vaguely familiar. He deflects with some humour.

“Shit, what’s going on here? There was a party and nobody told me about it?”

The cop scoffs. “Yeah, it’s all over the news, so everybody’s butting their nose in.” Hank internally winces that he missed the show. He’d been sleeping it off and regretting - and regretting  _ not _ regretting - his choices. The world had shifted drastically and he’d been drunk. Big surprise. “Even the FBI wants a piece of the action.”

Okay, that’s got Hank’s attention. The fucking FBI is the last thing he wants to deal with, even behind addressing whatever is going on between him and his new plastic partner.

“Ah Christ, now we got the Feds on our back… I knew the was gonna be a shitty day.” Hank scans the hallway. “So what do we got?”

“A group of four androids.” The officer starts leading him through the scene. “They knew the building, and they were very well organized. I’m still trying to figure out how they got this far without being noticed.”

The first thing Hank notices is the distinct lack of bodies - well,  _ dead _ bodies. There are uniformed officers and CSI everywhere, but there are very few signs of violence.  _ There are too many damn cooks in this kitchen _ .

It’s like the androids just walked in like they were invited.  _ Perhaps they had an inside man? _

“They attacked two guards in the hallway. They probably thought the androids were coming to do maintenance.”

_ Disguises? _

Hank turns as he’s walking and looks back towards the elevator: no blood - either red or blue - and no bullet holes. Nothing. His eyes pause on Connor, who seems just as absorbed as he is in examining a whole lot of nothing. Oh well, maybe he’d have better luck than Hank, what with his abilities. 

He notices that Connor is hanging back more than he usually does. Probably because of the way he’d snapped at him. Fuck, he’s gonna have to apologise about that. And that’s just for starters.

He turns back towards their guide. 

“They got taken down before they could react.” They pause at the guards’ desk. Nothing seem amiss here either. They head towards the broadcast room. “One of the station employees managed to get away. He’s in shock, not sure when we’ll be able to talk to him.”

“How many people were working here?”

“Just two employees and three androids.” Hank’s hyper aware of Connor’s proximity and the way the cop words his response sits uncomfortably with him. “The deviants took the humans hostage and broadcast their message live. They made their get-away from the roof.”

“The roof?” Now  _ that’s  _ interesting.

“Yeah, they jumped with parachutes… We’re still trying to figure out where they landed, but the weather’s not helping”

So the androids had BASE jumped? This had to be one of the more surreal weeks of Hank’s life.

“If you want to take a look at the video broadcast by the deviants, it’s on that screen over there.” The cop stops by the door to the broadcast room, waiting for Hank to enter, but it’s Connor that pushes forward. He leads them into the rounded room.

Here are the signs of violence Hank had expected. There are bullet holes everywhere, blueblood sprayed all over the place. Still no red.  _ Interesting _ . Besides a few concussed guards and the B&E, the androids seem practically Gandhi-esque compared to the humans trying to stop them. He feels a twinge of guilt that he wouldn’t have felt before that scene at the Eden Club.

The majority of the main wall is a gigantic screen. On it is a bare-faced android -  _ the leader? _ . Its chassis a polished white lustre, the lines of the joins of plates the only texture. It’s wearing a Stratford Tower janitor uniform.  _ Bingo _ .

_ An android disguised as an android. Clever.  _ It obviously worked well enough that every human that saw it failed to notice its lack of LED on the right temple. Hank glances at Connor. Were androids really that invisible?

“Oh Lieutenant, this is Special Agent Perkins from the FBI.”  _ Fuck. Fuck shit fuck.  _ This day just keeps getting better. Perkins turned towards Hank. He still has the same smug rat-face Hank remembers. “Lieutenant Anderson is in charge of investigating for Detroit Police.”

It’s not that he and Perkins have a  _ history _ per se, but they’ve crossed paths a few times and it’s never been pleasant. Hank finds him a haughty, histrionic, know-it-all, with an ego bigger than D.C. He’d stolen Hank’s cases - and hard work - several times just in time to claim the glory. Hard not to hold a grudge. 

Perkins, being the prick he is, doesn’t even acknowledge that they know each other.

“What’s that?” he asks, jerking his head towards Connor. 

Hank’s hackles go up and he’s just about to fire back an insult when Connor answers for himself. “My name is Connor. I’m the android sent by CyberLife.”

Now that the lines aren’t directed at him, Hank can hear the mockery Connor’s tone, but it’s so dry that he’s pretty sure it goes over Perkins’ head.  _ Doesn’t take much to do that though _ . Hank smiles at Connor’s sass.

“Androids investigating androids,” Perkins sniffs. “You sure you want an android hanging around? After everything that happened?”

Hank’s heart plunges into his stomach. Of course the shithead knows about Cole. It shouldn’t surprise Hank. He schools his face to give no reaction. He refuses to give the man the reaction he wants. 

“Whatever, the FBI will take over the investigation. You’ll soon be off the case.”

“Pleasure meeting you,” Hank rushes, talking over Perkins. Two could play this game. “Have a nice day.”

Perkins takes the bait, just like Hank knew he would.  _ Egotistical asshole _ . “And you watch your step. Don’t fuck up my crime scene.”

He’s sure the agent means for it to sound tough, but it just makes Hank want to laugh. He was too old for these ridiculous pissing contests. Besides, he’d already proven he was a better investigator than Perkins so it’s easy to watch him walk away rather than escalate.

“What a fuckin’ prick,” he mumbles to noone in particular.

“I’ll be nearby. If you need anything, just ask.” Hank turns to look at Connor, silently observing, as usual. His brown eyes meet Hank’s for the first time since last night. It’s too much.

“Alright, let’s have a look around…” He walks back to look at the hallway again. He needs some space from Connor. “Let me know if you find anything.”

“Okay, Lieutenant.”

The hall is even more packed than before, if possible. The place has filled with men in black suits.

“FB-fuckin-I,” Hank mutters, turning in the doorway to watch Connor work.

Everyone is so preoccupied with being part of the action, they pay no attention to him. And Connor… well, Connor is an android and therefore as good as invisible. May as well be a piece of furniture with the way he has to maneuver carefully around people in order to investigate the crime scene. Hank wants to think he’s never treated an android like this, but he knows he’d be lying.

Hank finds himself studying the way the android moves. It’s different than the androids Hank is used to working with. He has the same upright stiffness, the same precise strides, but there are little quirks and mannerisms that Hank has only ever seen in humans. Hank’s favourite is the way Connor’s expressions change as he processes information. They’re subtle, but undeniably there - his eyes shift, his lips quirk up or down, he tilts his head. It makes Hank’s heart clench in a way he doesn’t want to examine too closely.

When Connor approaches the main console and plays back the broadcast, Hank walks towards him. He wants to hear Connor’s thoughts. He wants that back-and-forth they’d fallen into so easily after their close call at the club. Before… 

“Together,” says the larger-than-life android on the screen, “We can live in peace and build a better future, for humans and androids. This message is the hope of a people. You gave us life. And now the time has come for you to give us freedom.”

“Think that’s rA9?” he asks Connor. What he really wants is to ask what Connor thinks of the speech.

“Deviants say rA9 will set them free.” Well, that’s clear enough. Connor doesn’t see the speech as directed towards him. “This android seems to have that objective.”

Connor falls silent. His LED whirls yellow and his eyes dart over the screen. “D’you see something?”

Another pause.  _ Curious _ .

“I identified its model and serial number.” Connor stays staring at the android - possibly rA9 - as if mesmerised. Hank studies his profile. Usually he can’t get Connor to shut up.

“Anything else I should know?” He stares at Connor until the android snaps out of it and looks over.

“No,” he says quickly, but then his eyes are back on the screen. “Nothing.”

Hank doesn’t believe him. He lingers; considers pushing him on the issue but his gut tells him it’s not the time. Still… what was he hiding? Hank steps back. He hopes- no, believes Connor will tell him when ready. He’s held nothing back so far. If there’s one thing he could rely on Connor for, it’s speaking his mind.

Connor reviews the security footage, then straightens. “They didn’t break in?”

“No, no sign of forced entry.”

“There are cameras in the hallway. The staff would have seen what was happening. Why did they let them in?”

Hank shrugs, playing along. He’s proud that Connor’s heading towards the same conclusion he’s made, but it’s fun to play devil’s advocate, to see what other dots he may connect. “Maybe they didn’t check the cameras.”

He gives Connor a playful, challenging smile and Connor smiles back.  _ Jesus _ ,  _ that’s dangerous. _ He’s glad that the android doles them out sparingly.

Connor turns away again and follows the path of chaos, examining bullet holes and touching blueblood. When he touches his fingers to his tongue, Hank tries very hard not to think about how it felt to have that same tongue press against his own.

He has to subtly adjust himself.  _ Now’s not the time, Anderson _ . Three years of nothing and all it took was the slightest thing - not even something sexy - to get him chomping at the bit. He really  _ was _ pathetic.

He turns to retrace Connor’s steps. He reviews the security footage again and gets absorbed trying to make out faces, but no luck. His attention is broken when Connor slips into the break room. He considers following him, but there are only the station androids in there. Connor would be better at dealing with them. 

He slowly makes his way back to the hallway to make sure the uniformed officers have gathered all the digital evidence and sent it back to the precinct. Just as he’s spotted their cop tour guide among the crowd, one of the broadcast room androids sprints past him. Then Connor bursts through the doorway.

“It’s a deviant! Stop it!” Hank looks at Connor. His shirt is stained blue.

_ Fuck. _

Time slows. Hank throws himself against the wall, reaching for his gun.

_ Too slow _ .

The android grabs the assault rifle from the SWAT member near the lift.

_ Too slow! _

His fingers have barely touched the butt of his gun when he’s jerked away from the wall and pushed to the ground. Gunfire. Connor’s on top of him. More gunfire. Shouts.

Then silence.

Hank wiggles out from under Connor, stumbling to his feet. The deviant is down, riddled with bullet holes.  _ Fuck _ . Hank’s head throbs with adrenaline. He’s blowing hard, like he’s sprinted a mile. He’s alive. Connor had save his ass.

“Good thing you were here,” he pants, turning to help Connor to his feet. “Otherwise-”

He registers the holes, the blue stains. Connor isn’t moving. He’s facedown where he’d tackled Hank. The floor drops from underneath him.

“Connor…” he breathes. He kneels.  _ No. This isn’t possible _ . He gently rolls his partner over. His body is limp and unresponsive. His LED is dark. “Connor, no…”

The silent hall is flooded with life and noise, but all Hank can do is stay on his knees. The hubbub around him is muffled by his shock. He needs to get up. He needs to help. But he can’t take his eyes off of Connor.

It’s too sudden. They’d had too little time. All he can think is  _ What is going to happen to his body? _

His question is answered in less than an hour, when CyberLife androids whisk Connor aways from him. He’s held up with the FBI. Perkins is on the phone with the Commissioner and Hank’s only half listening to the cop he’s giving his statement to. He can’t tear his eyes away from the casual, irreverent way they gather up his partner’s body. In just a few seconds, his packed away inside a foam-lined box.

The corners of his eyes burn.  _ For fuck’s sake, you only knew him a few days _ . Still… 

"Hold up!” he hollers at the androids before they replace the lid. Hank hurries over. He looks down at Connor. Laying on his back like this, he could be sleeping - not that androids slept. The blue of the Thirium was already starting to evaporate.

What is he  _ doing _ ? This wasn’t an open casket funeral and Hank wasn’t the type to need this kind of closure. He shoves his hands into his pockets, preparing to step back, but he feels the warm disc of Connor’s coin. He pulls it out and looks at it. It was minted in 1985. What are the chances?

He considers giving the coin back now, but it doesn’t sit right with Hank. He  _ wants _ to keep it. It’s weight is comforting in his palm. He grimaces. When had he become such a sap?

“Okay,” he says gruffly and slips the quarter back into his pocket, where he runs his thumbnail along the ridges on its edge. “Thanks.”

  
The click of the latches as they lock Connor away are echoed by the closing of something raw and new in Hank’s heart.  _ Best not to think about it _ . Hank squares his shoulders and moves down the hall ahead of the androids. He doesn’t hold the elevator for them. He plans to go home and get very, very drunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you guys chose for Hank to apologise. AND HE WAS GOING TO, I SWEAR. But the universe had other plans.
> 
> Thank you to my fellow robofucker, Erin, for alpha reading and being my sounding board. And also to all you lovelies that showed far more enthusiasm than I expected for my drivel. I didn't expect for these two assholes to CATCH FEELINGS. Ugh...
> 
> My apologies for this being un-betaed.


	3. Meet Kamski

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank isn't prepared for the realities of having an android partner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regular posting schedule? Idk her.
> 
> Unbeta-ed
> 
> 0_______0

Hank pulls up to Kamski’s mansion. It’s just him, the loud crunch of the snow under his car’s tires… and the familiar dark silhouette of someone that should be dead waiting for him on the drive.

He parks the car and stares. Every detail is the same.  _ Connor _ . The urge to stumble from the car and go to him is nearly overwhelming.

_ It’s not him _ , he tells himself.  _ It can’t be Connor. Not  _ his  _ Connor. _

He grits his teeth and braces himself for this; lets the anger push away the hurt and confusion.

“Jesus Christ.” It’s all he can think to say. 

What else does one say when their partner essentially comes back to life? What could Hank say to describe the plummeting feeling in his gut when that deviant had shot at him, only to hit Connor? How lump in his throat as he cradled Connor in his arms -  _ Connor… no.  _ \- had made it impossible to talk as they pried his fingers from Connor’s jacket.

Letting go of his body had felt like letting go of all the hopes - hopes he hadn’t even known he’d harboured until… until… He’d nearly choked on his regrets as he sat in his car after being debriefed. Hell, he was still nursing one hell of a hangover caused by trying to forget what had happened to the man standing in front of him.

“My predecessor was unfortunately destroyed, but CyberLife transferred its memory and sent me to replace it.”

Connor’s words are like a knife to the heart. Connor isn’t this body. Connor is… Hank isn’t sure, but if Connor’s memories have been transferred, why is he back to being cold and remote? It’s like they hadn’t fought and struggled side-by-side… Like Connor hadn’t sacrificed himself to save Hank’s life. Didn’t that  _ mean _ something to this machine?

It meant something to Hank. No one has ever… 

“You died in my arms,” he says loudly, flinging the accusation at the android, hoping to hurt him as much as his existence hurts Hank. If Connor’s death had shrouded him in grief, this return to life felt like a betrayal.

But as much as it hurts seeing him again, Hank can't stop looking; drinking him in. There's not a hair out of place. Same uniform - sans bullet holes and blood -, same perfectly-imperfect face. The moles are in the exact spots he remembers. If Hank hadn't seen him die with his own two eyes, he'd have never known.

“And now you’re back here as if nothing happened.” Nothing. No reaction. No hint of the turmoil he’d started to see in the Connor from before -  _ his Connor _ … “Fuck you.”

He stalks past Connor with purpose. They have a job to do. Hank isn’t going to let himself get fooled again - fooled into caring, fooled into wanting, fooled into needing. He’ll keep things professional. He’s gone the last three years without needing anything but a stiff drink. One plastic prick isn’t going to change that.

Connor isn’t human. He’s just an android.

\---

They’ve only been talking to Kamski for a few minutes but Hank’s already convinced the man is a waste of space. He has far too high an opinion of himself and a god-complex like Hank has never seen before.

“What about you, Connor?” Kamski drawls. “Who’s side are you on?”

“I’m on the humans’ side, of course.”

“Well, that’s what you’re programmed to say, but you…” Kamski steps forward, getting into Connor’s face. Hank restrains his instinct to intervene. The android doesn’t need his help. Hank doesn’t  _ want _ to help him. “What do you really want?”

Hank knows he’s lying to himself.

“I don’t want anything. I am a machine,” Connor says flatly. Hank knows Connor doesn’t mean it as a reference to his previous insult in the park, but guilt still twinges at the back of his brain. 

They hadn’t talked about what had happened; they hadn’t had time. And even though Hank had been adamant that they wouldn’t, he’s regretted it ever since Stratford Tower, blueblood seeping into his clothes. The Thirium had evaporated after a few hours but he could still feel the stains on his skin, even after a hot shower.

Kamski looks over. “Chloe?”

The android that had greeted them at the door walks obediently over.

“I’m sure you’re familiar with the Turing Test - mere formality: simple question of algorithms and computing capacity.” Kamski takes Chloe by the shoulders and lines her up in front of Connor. Hank doesn’t have a good feeling about this. He should have listened to Connor’s misgivings outside.

“What interests me is whether machines are capable of empathy.” Hank’s bad feeling ratchets up into something bordering on dread. What is this sleazeball up to? “I call it the Kamski Test. It’s very simple, you’ll see…”

Kamski turn to study Chloe. “Magnificent, isn’t it? One of the first intelligent models developed by CyberLife.”

Hank doesn’t like the way he calls his companion  _ it _ , even if she’s technically Kamski’s invention.

“Young and beautiful forever. A flower that will never wither.” He caresses Chloe’s cheek, his voice taking on a wistful air.  _ Creepy _ .

Yeah, okay, this guy isn’t right in the head. Too much time spent with only androids for company. Hank wants to leave before they’re monologued to death. And that’s just the best case scenario. He doesn’t trust this guy’s mental stability, genius inventor or not.

“But what is it really? Piece of plastic imitating a human?” Kamski turns and opens a drawer. “Or a living being… with a soul?”

He turns back around and there’s a gun in his hand. Hank tenses, but Kamski holds up his hands, holding the gun by the barrel rather than the stock. He flashes Hank a mocking  _ I’m harmless  _ look.

Hank’s had about enough of this asshole, but they need whatever information they can get from him, so he stays quiet and chews on all the shit he wants to say. If Kamski doesn’t play ball soon, Hank has half a mind to haul him in for obstructing an investigation, wealth and influence be damned. It wasn’t as if Hank had much more to lose. Hell, seeing the look on Fowler’s face as he hauled Elijah  _ fucking _ Kamski in would be worth it alone.

Then Kamski guides Chole to kneel. Hank tries not to look at her eyes. “It’s up to you to answer that fascinating question, Connor.”

Hank clenches his jaw, but doesn’t look over. He won’t. He can’t. Not if he wants to keep his resolve of not caring. His resolve holds until Kamski - self-important prick - places the gun into Connor’s hand and points it at Chloe.

“Destroy this machine and I’ll tell you all I know. Or spare it, if you feel it’s alive, but you’ll leave here without having learnt anything from me.”

What kind of fucked up game is this shithead playing? Whatever it is, it isn’t one Hank’s interested in seeing through. Kamski can play god without dragging the two of them into it.

“Okay, I think we’re done here. Come on, Connor. Let’s go. Sorry to get you outta your pool.” Hank turns to leave, expecting Connor to follow him. Connor  _ always _ follows him.

But Connor doesn’t move.

“What’s more important to you, Connor? Your investigation, or the life of this android?”

And there it is. The stakes.

_ I always accomplish my mission. _

Hank is going to have to watch his partner murder this android. His stomach clenches.

“Decide who you are,” Kamski whispers. “An obedient machine… or a living being… endowed with free will.”

Hank hates him for doing this to Connor. Connor isn’t… Christ, Kamski must truly be heartless to fuck with Connor like this.

“That’s enough!” Hank shouts. “Connor, we’re leaving.”

He tries to lead the way again, but Kamski whispers, “Pull the trigger-”

No! He won’t let this happen. “Connor! Don’t…”

“-and I’ll tell you what you wanna know.”

_ Please, Connor. Don’t. Don’t do this. Don’t make me watch you become a murderer. Please, be  _ my _ Connor. _

Connor gives a gasp and withdraws the gun. Relief floods through Hank’s veins even as he tries to wrap his mind around what this must mean.

“Fascinating.” Kamski takes the gun from Connor. “CyberLife’s last chance to save humanity is itself a deviant.”

“I’m- I’m not a deviant…” Connor protests. Something large and overwhelming swells in Hank’s chest.

“You preferred to spare a machine rather than accomplish your mission.” With great care, he gently helps Chloe to her feet. “You saw a living being in this android. You showed empathy.”

This shouldn’t surprise Hank - the way Connor had let those Tracis go… - but hearing Kamski say it aloud makes it tangible in a way that it hadn’t been before. A memory flashes into his mind unbidden: Connor pressing close to him, lips soft against his own, eyes looking up at Hank, two wet spots on the knees of his trousers..

Empathy. Desire. The messiness of emotion.

“A war is coming. You’ll have to choose your side.” Kamski gets close to Connor, who is looking lost and so very vulnerable. “Will you betray your own people or stand up against your creators? What could be worse than having to choose between two evils?”

That’s it. They’re done. Hank steps between Kamski and Connor, guiding Connor by the shoulder. He tries to be gentle while still showing his disdain for the inventor. “Let’s get out of here.”

The blood is pounding so hard in his ears that he doesn’t even hear what Kamski hollars after them. He doesn’t care, even though it causes Connor to pause in the door. They need out of here. He needs to know. He needs to know once and for all what the fuck is going on in Connor’s head.

Hank slows down on the front walk and Connor passes him. “Why didn’t you shoot?”

Connor keeps walking and Hank thinks that he isn’t going to answer, but then he turns suddenly. His voice is upset. 

“I just saw that girl’s eyes and I couldn’t.” He makes a hopeless gesture, arms wide. “That’s all.”

“You’re always saying you would do anything to accomplish your mission.” Connor half turns away from him, shifting restlessly. “That was our chance to learn something and you let it go.”

“Yeah, I know what I should’ve done! I told you I couldn’t!” Connor paces towards him, his face filled with confusion and anguish. “I’m sorry, okay?”

Hank studies Connor’s expression. He’s even breathing - not hard, but he’s breathing when he doesn’t need to. _ Does he need to? _ Everything about him indicates he’s-

_ Feeling _ .

Despite despising Kamski for doing this exact same thing, Hank wants to push Connor. He wants to know if Kamski was bluffing or fucking with them.

“You seem upset, Connor.” He hates himself a little even as he says it.

Connor straightens immediately and blinks at Hank. “I’m not. I’m incapable of being upset.”

“I must have been mistaken. Machines can’t feel.” He walks past Connor, heading back to his car. His heart is pounding. He can feel Connor’s eyes on his back, and then after a few seconds, the sound of Connor following him. It feels like they’re playing a game where Hank only has the haziest grasp of the rules.

Connor being alive... Connor’s reaction to the test Kamski had forced on him... Hank can’t help it. The hopes that had crystalised for him back in Stratford Tower come flooding back, stronger than ever.

When Connor slides into the passenger seat next to him, Hank doesn’t start the car. Hope… hope is such a dangerous emotion. Hank hates the vertigo it gives him; the feeling that he may fall at any second. “If it makes any difference, I think you did the right thing.”

Connor shifts, angling his body to face him. “Lieuten-?”

“Do-” Hank cuts him off, voice harsher than he means it to be. He shoves his hands deep into his coat pockets, left hand closing around Connor’s coin. The metal bites into his palm. It’s easier to focus on that rather than the android sitting next to him. When he finally contines, it’s in a whisper. “Do you remember?”

Silence.

“I apologise, Lieutenant. I’m not certain what you mean.”

Hank leans back with a sigh and turns to look at Connor.

“At-” He wants to ask about the park - the kiss, the blowjob… the  _ kiss _ \- but he chickens out.  _ Coward _ . “Stratford. When you…”

He can’t even say it.

“He attacked me. Tore out my regulator. I-” Connor pauses, the same pained expression Hank had seen on his face inside making a fleeting appearance. He looks down at his hands, splayed and open in his lap. Hank’s fingers itch to reach over and touch the vulnerable palms. “I called for you. I thought I was going to die.”

Hank can’t breathe.  _ What the fuck _ … There’s a horrible, heavy weight pressing down on him; a pressure building inside that makes him feel like he could burst apart. He wants a drink. He wants to touch. He wants to-

“Connor, you  _ did  _ die.” Connor’s eyes dart up to meet his.

God, he wants to kiss Connor again.

“Yes, but dying to save you is one thing. Dying because of my own ineptitude is another matter. I do not regret protecting you. You are vital to solving this case.” Then he smiles ruefully. “Besides, as you can see, I do not stay dead.”

It's a lame attempt to inject some levity into a tense situation but Hank appreciates it until he notices Connor is staring at him intently.

“I feel I should clarify my previous statement, regarding my predecessor.” God damn it, he sounds so  _ reasonable _ . Hank grunts for him to continue. 

“I refer only to the previous body.” Connor taps the tips of his left pointer and middle finger to his right breast. He's indicating his serial number. “I am intact where it counts.”

The fingers move up to tap again, this time at his left temple. He smiles softly at Hank. “I am sorry if the experience was traumatic for you.”

“Traumatic if putting it lightly. How would you feel if I were shot?”

_ Red. Red-yellow _ . It’s a long moment before Connor answers.

“It would not be an ideal scenario. I believe it may have happened, had I not intervened. I calculated your chances of survival and deemed them too low.”

Hank wonders if Connor realises the number of times he's prioritised Hank's safety over the success of the case.

Hank slides towards the center of the bench seat. He doesn’t break eye contact. “Why did you do that? Goddamnit, Connor. Why did you save me?”

_ Red-yellow _ . No response.

“Why- why did you ever kiss me back?”

“It was obvious you wished it,” Connor answers immediately - all guileless wide eyes and bemused tone, like the answer should be obvious.

Dammit, It isn’t the answer he wants. But suddenly Connor is sliding close and Hank’s mind short circuits.

“Since you have broached the subject of what occurred between us, is it safe to assume that I may-” Connor touches Hank’s jaw lightly.

_ Shit… He’s going to kiss me again, _ Hank thinks in awe.  _ Why? _

Possibilities flit through Hank’s mind. Connor had demonstrated repeatedly that he could deny or defy Hank, so he didn’t buy Connor’s answer. Connor claims not to want anything, but could he be curious? Possibly. Or perhaps Connor’s social module had determined it necessary. But why? Surely, it's obvious Hank's on board with their partnership now.

Hank winces at the possibilities that lay at the end of that line of inquiry. The last thing Hank needs is what amounts to  _ pity _ from an android.

Hank turns his head away - Connor’s fingers brush against his beard - and pulls himself back into the driver’s seat. He isn’t sure what the android is hoping to gain from this seduction - if it’s a seduction - but they don’t have time for it. 

As much as he wants to push Connor into the passenger seat and kiss him like a lovesick teenager, Hank it too old and too tired to try to figure this out. Besides, they have a case to solve. He starts the car and pulls on his seatbelt.

“I- uh, Connor-” He clears his throat and looks over at his partner. He’s settled back into his seat too, but he’s frowning slightly. “I’m really glad you didn’t stay dead."

He winces. The words hang awkward in the chilly air of the car. It’s not what he meant to say. He wanted to tell Connor  _ yes, you may _ and  _ don’t you ever sacrifice yourself for me again, you idiot _ and ask  _ do you feel this too? _

A slow smile spreads over Connor’s face. “Thank you, Lieutenant. Me too.”

The absurdity of it all hits Hank - that they’re having a personal drama when their city is on the verge of possible violence - and he barks a laugh. “Let’s go solve this case and then…”

Hank isn’t sure how to end that sentence, but he knows that after all this, there will be time. They would talk.

“I like the way you think,” Connor says, a hint of teasing in his voice.

“Cheeky montherfucker, aren’t you?” Hank mumbles as he swings the car around to head back to the precinct. He tries not to think about the multitudes his  _ and then _ … can contain. For the first time in years, Hank’s future is opening up with possibilities. It’s not something he dreads. He’s looking forward to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are about to get wild. It still boggles my mind (and tests my credulity) that all this shit happens over the course of a week or so. 0.o Dage, give us a break.
> 
> I have 6 chapters planned.
> 
> Unless you guys want a fucky epilogue... >.>


	4. Last Chance, Hank

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just as he gets Connor back, he's torn away from Hank again. What's a human to do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I DON'T HAVE A BETA OR TALENT AND IM SORRY.

Of course, Fowler would have to throw a wrench into things. Just when Hank was beginning to enjoy this - having a partner, feeling good about their chances of solving the case… 

_ Connor _ . Everything about the infuriating, wonderful idiot frustrates and intrigues him simultaneously.

They’re barely through the precinct doors when they’re summoned loudly to Fowler’s office. Hank assumes Kamski has complained; thrown his weight around. Whatever. What did Hank care if there was one more disciplinary write up in his file? He just wants to get the meeting over with so that they can get back to working.

“You’re off the case. The FBI is taking over.”

Hank feels like the rug has been yanked from beneath him. This whole time, Fowler has been berating him to keep going, to work with the CyberLife android, and now- Fuck, no. Hank won’t have it.

“What?” He glances over to Connor and sees similar surprise there. “But we’re onto something. We- We just need more time. I’m sure we can-”

“Hank, you don’t get it. This isn’t just another investigation. It’s a fucking civil war.” If Fowler thinks that Hank doesn’t notice the way he gestures at Connor, like it’s the android’s fault, he’s dead wrong. 

When had the two of them become such bigots? Hank knows they hadn’t been back in the day.  _ Funny, how these things can creep up on you _ . He looks at Fowler like he’s a stranger and feels a pervasive sense of disgust worm its way through him. If this was what Connor had seen when they’d first met, it’s a wonder they’d gotten this far at all.

“It’s out of our hands now. We’re talking about national security here.” It’s such a bureaucratic non-answer, that Hank goes from annoyed to pissed off in a split second.

“Fuck that! You can’t just pull the plug now. Not when we’re so close!” Hank cares about this case, despite his reluctant start on it. He  _ cares _ and what’s more, he cares that Connor succeeds. He knows just how much it means to his partner.

“You’re always saying you can’t stand androids. Jesus, Hank. Make up your mind. I thought you’d be happy about this,” Fowler counters, turning the argument back on Hank. It’s a deflection and it’s this that clinches it: Fowler is handing the case over because he doesn’t want this mess to land in his lap.

_ Cowardly, fucking piece-of-shit…  _

But how can Hank argue? How could he explain that in just a matter of days, Connor had upended everything he thought he believed in?

“We’re about to crack the case. I know we can solve it!” Fuck it. If Fowler could throw logical fallacies at him, Hank would volley them right back. “For god’s sake, Jeffrey, can’t you back me up this one time?”

“There’s nothing I can do.” Fowler shakes his head and Hank realises, the decision has already been made. It was final. Nothing he said would change what was happening. “You’re back on homicide. And the android returns to CyberLife.” 

A desperate, hysterical feeling bubbles up inside Hank’s chest. No.  _ Nonono…  _ This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. Connor can’t leave now.

“I’m sorry, Hank. But it’s over.” Damn him. Damn Fowler for sounding so sincere. Hank leans forward, processing, trying to think of other options.

Beside him, Connor is still and silent. Why isn’t he protesting as well? Does he not- Hank stops himself. Connor cares. He knows he does. These are just his own insecurities. Still, he wishes the android would jump in.

Hank straightens. His hands are balled into fists. He throws a glance at Connor; a plea. Nothing. He feels defeated as he turns and walks out of Fowler’s office.

He’s glad that the bullpen is mostly empty because he’s ready to pick a fight. Anything to keep from thinking about their failure… his impending loss… He sits down at his desk heavily and rests his chin in his hand. What can he do?

He considers resigning - he’s had it with this job - but that won’t help Connor or the case. If anything, it’ll just give people like Reed another excuse to mock him. And really, without this job, what does Hank have? A bottle of scotch, a tarnished reputation, and a bullet with his name on it. Even if he doesn’t really want to die anymore, he fears he’s not far from wanting again.

Connor perches on Hank’s desk with a huff. 

“We can’t just give up like that. I know we could have solved this case,” he says emphatically. He’s a tightly strung ball of frustration. Hank feels closer to understanding the android than ever and his heart clenches painfully.

"So you’re going back to CyberLife?” Best to rip off this bandaid now and get it over with. Connor’s failure can’t end well. Hank wants to know what he’s in for. He needs to know what’s going to happen to this brilliant, beautiful creature.

“I have no choice. I’ll be deactivated and analysed to find out why I failed.” Every emotion plays across Connor’s face: regret, disappointment, but no fear. Hank feels enough of it for the both of them.

The shit that he’s seen over the last week has shaken his firmly held belief that androids are machines; an evil - some would say a necessary evil - that has to be endured. But the abuse he’s seen them endure in just a handful of cases. He can’t help but feel for them. Hell- anyone with a beating heart should.

Hank can’t shake the fear in the eyes of Ortiz’s android; the desperation in the way those two Tracis fought for their freedom; the determination in the voice of Markus as he spoke to the world about his convictions; and of course, Connor… His obvious struggle between what he feels is right and his duty.

Connor, who has vacillated wildly - one moment a cold machine; the next, warm and friendly and- God, the way he had felt in Hank’s arms. How can all that be fake? Does Connor really feel nothing? If so, is it possible for that to change?

“What if we’re on the wrong side, Connor? What if we’re fighting against people who just wanna be free?” Hank leans forward, eyes studying his partner. What did Connor look for when identifying a deviant? Hank isn’t sure he’d know it if he saw it in Connor, but he can’t help but try.

“When the deviants rise up there will be chaos.” Connor’s voice is quiet but intense. He sounds disappointed in himself. “We could have stopped it. But now it’s too late.”

The way Connor says  _ we _ instead of  _ I _ … Hank isn’t sure if the android has ever done that before: talked about the two of them as a unit. He wonders if androids can have slips of the tongue.

Connor is right. The shit’s going to hit the fan, and soon. People are going to die - both humans and androids. They’d failed. Hank has that old feeling in the pit of his stomach. They’d been so  _ fucking  _ close.

Hank knows why he’s frustrated, but Connor is a different matter. Is he merely upset over failing to achieve his objective? He hadn’t seemed so out of sorts when he’d chosen to save Hank’s life on that roof or when he had chosen not to shoot that Chloe. Those times, he’d merely seemed confused. Now though, he seems genuinely angry that success has been snatched from his grasp. Hank leans back in his chair.

“When you refused to kill that android at Kamski’s place, you put yourself in her shoes. You showed empathy, Connor.” Hank knows he’s searching now, leading Connor to say what he wants to hear. He can’t help himself. Against everything Hank thought he knew about himself, Connor is already human in his eyes and in the end, it will be only Hank that’s hurt. “Empathy’s a human emotion.”

“I don’t know why I did it,” Connor says softly, the same confusion he’d displayed each time he’d failed to follow programming clear on his face, but in a second, it’s gone. In its place is the smooth, pleasant mask of his model.

Hank studies Connor’s face, memorising it. He can still remember just how those lips feel against his own. A bittersweet sadness falls onto his shoulders for what may have been between them.

He sighs, pushing those unproductive thought from his head. He’d tried. Connor doesn’t feel. He isn’t a deviant. Sure, he was odd. Maybe it was in his programming to act unpredictably. Like a human. Like a deviant. He must have to think like the people he was trying to catch. Hank still doesn’t regret anything that’s happened between them.

And then the switch flips again, acceptance slipping into place on Connor’s face.

“I’m not programmed to say things like this, but I- I’ve really loved being your partner.” Connor’s voice is warm, casual… intimate. “With a little more time, who knows what we might have become…”

Hank’s breath catches in his throat. He nearly chokes on the possibility that’s being wrenched from him. Just when he was resigning himself… 

“Friends?” he asks and knows deep down that they could have been. Good friends. Great friends.

Connor gives him a rare smile. He leans in and whispers conspiratorially, “Drinking buddies?”

The implication of the reiteration hangs between them, intractable and full of longing:  _ Lovers _ . Hank wants to laugh harshly at the unfairness of it all. He wants to point out that they’re already lovers. They’d crossed that line and Hank, for one, wasn’t going to forget that anytime soon.

He’s not ready to let go.

Just then, he sees Perkins walk through the entrance. Fuck, this is it. He tries to play it off like he’s not on the verge of being sick. All that adrenaline from anger and fear has nowhere to go and he feels like he might just lose his lunch.

“Well, well, here comes Perkins, that motherfucker… Sure don’t waste any time at the FBI,” he says with a bluster that’s all show. Inside, he’s numb.

“We can’t give up,” Connor says, leaning forward and gesturing. “I know the answer is in the evidence we collected. If Perkins takes it, it’s all over.”

“There’s no choice. You heard Fowler, we’re off the case,” he says calmly, but a zing of excitement shoots through him. He can see in Connor’s eyes, the android has a plan.

“You’ve got to help me, Lieutenant.” Connor stands, his gestures, his tone growing more passionate.  _ Yes,  _ Hank wants to say immediately, but lets him finish first. “I need more time so I can find a lead in the evidence we collected. I know the solution is in there!”

“Listen, Connor…” He wants to help. He does. But this is less of a plan than a reckless way to get them arrested or fired or both.

“If I don’t solve this case, CyberLife will destroy me.” Connor enunciates the words with such ardent care that finally, Hank can see it: he’s afraid.  _ About fucking time _ . “Five minutes. It’s all I ask.”

How can he get Connor the time he needs? 

“Please, Hank…” The way Connor says his name takes him immediately back to that bench, that park, that fucking kiss that had turned Hank’s life on its head.

His eyes flit past Connor towards where Perkins disappeared. This isn’t going to be pleasant. He stands slowly, stepping into Connor’s space so that he can whisper.

“Key to the basement is on my desk…” He rests his hand heavily on Connor’s shoulder; wishes he could do more, wishes he could kiss him just in case, wishes his pride would allow him to say something - anything - meaningful. 

He jams his hands into his pockets - not sure what to do with them - and there’s that damn coin. He pulls it out and presses it into Connor’s palm. Their hands linger like that, Connor just as reluctant to let go, it seems.

Finally, Hank pulls his hand away, leaving the coin behind. He pushes past Connor, squaring his shoulders.

“Hank!” Connor calls after him. Hank turns just in time to see a flickering shine arching towards him. He snatches it out of the air. He looks from the quarter to partner, who winks at him. “Something to remember me by.”

Heat floods Hank’s cheeks. His heart pounds. His feet are rooted to the ground. It feels like Connor is saying goodbye and Hank can’t handle this right now. He shoves the coin into his coat pocket.

“Get a move on! I can’t distract them forever,” he growls in response and Connor jumps into action.

He turns his back on his partner and stalks down the hall, bracing himself for what may be a huge mistake. He isn’t sure if Connor is deviant - despite what he feels, despite what Kamski said - but he trusts him to do what’s right. If they stop the revolution, getting fired for siding with Connor will be worth it.

“Perkins! You fucking cocksucker!” Hank bellows, glad that he’s going to get to hit someone after all. The fact that it’s going to be Perkins is just the cherry on top of this confusing shit-sundae of a day.

Besides, Hank could never resist a dramatic gesture.

_ Good luck, kid _ , he thinks as he sees Connor disappear down the hall towards the evidence room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seems like Sunday's are going to be my update days. But I'm a chaotic bitch so it may be one chapter or many. :D
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are my life blood. Thank you to everyone that's read and let me know. <3
> 
> Follow me!  
> Twitter Jericho: @canneverdie  
> Writer account: @thehartbelieves


	5. Crossroads Hank

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank is left behind to watch the revolution falter while Connor is off infiltrating Jericho. An unexpected guest turns up at Hank's door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this chapter was fun because I got to show how -60 got Hank to CyberLife. Hopefully, it's believable.
> 
> Also, holy shit! I thought sex scenes with two people using the same pronouns was difficult. Turns out, I just never had the pleasure of writing an action scene between three men, two of which are identical. *sweats*
> 
> Un-betaed. SORRY!

There’s a tumbler full of whiskey next to him, but his eyes are glued to the television. He’s been living in front of it since he was suspended two days ago. Two days of thinking about Connor, worrying about Connor, worrying about his city… 

Worrying about Connor some more.

Because by every metric Hank can think of, Connor has failed. Now all he can hope for is that the android is alive.

His heart aches seeing the streets littered with the bodies of androids. Somewhere along the line of their partnership, a switch has flipped in his head. Each one of those bodies was once a life. There are people out there that are mourning the loss of each of those people. He’s barely dared to sleep, afraid he’ll miss a glimpse of Connor on the screen. Afraid to see Connor at all. Afraid that it won’t be Connor; that it will be his lifeless body.

He doesn’t know if he can go back to seeing androids as machines even if Markus’ revolution fails. With every passing hour, he’s more and more convinced that it will. Perkins isn’t showing any mercy. It’s small comfort to see the badly covered black eye he’d given the asshole in the brief comment he gives the press. 

He tells himself that no news from his partner is good news and that his incessant worrying won’t change anything. All this staring at shaky, live footage and the insufferable repeats of Warren’s press announcement forces Hank to peel himself off the couch. He needs a shower. He needs food.

_ He needs to know Connor is okay. _

He turns the hot water up as high as he can stand and tries not to think. It’s losing battle though, his mind is filled with the images of bodies stained blue with Thirium. It’s far too easy for his imagination to conjure up a blank-eyed Connor.

He’s fairly certain CyberLife won’t be restoring Connor again if he… He doesn’t let himself follow that train of thought.

_ Please _ , he thinks towards a god he doesn’t believe in - God or rA9 or whatever. He rests his forehead against the cool, clammy tiles.  _ Just let him live through this. Let me keep this one good thing _ .

The doorbell rings. Sumo lets out a chain of loud, booming barks. 

“I’m coming! I’m coming!” Hank shouts, throwing a towel around his waist and hurrying to the door. Who the fuck could it be at this time of night? And with the evacuation?

He peeks through the peephole and his heart nearly stops. It’s Connor.

“Lieutenant, it’s me. Please let me in. The curfew-”

Hank unlocks and throws the door open - winter be damned -, pulling Connor into a hug. The android is stiff in his arms for a moment before returning the embrace. Hank coughs, a little embarrassed, and releases him. He kicks the door closed, locking it once more.

“It’s been two days. You don’t write, you don’t call…” he teases, but Connor’s face is somber. Hank’s relief turns to ashes in his mouth. “What’s wrong? Were you there when the raid happened? Are you okay?”

He lets his eyes wander over Connor. He’s seems perfectly alright, starched and straight-laced as usual. Hank suddenly feels ridiculous, standing there in a ratty old towel. Just a schlubby, fat old man. But then Connor’s eyes flick down and back up, and the situation takes on an entirely different tone.

Hank steps back into Connor’s space, fully intending to push him against the door and kiss him. They were both stuck here because of the curfew, after all. Connor places his palm against Hank’s chest, arresting his movement.

“Hank… I need your help.” Connor blinks up at him, eyes wide and so very warm. “The deviants… they’re going to blow up CyberLife.”

“Wh- what?!” Hank’s mood feels whiplashed. “How? When?”

“We must hurry. I’ll explain on the way.”

“Yeah… yes, of course I’ll help you. Just let me get dressed.” Hank whirls and hurries back to his room. He grabs the first clothes he sees and pulls them on. Images of the Jericho ship buckling in on itself flash in his mind. CyberLife tower is bound to be full of humans and androids. “Have you called the cops? Or your… uhm, bosses?”

Who the hell is even in charge over at CyberLife?

“The deviants are going to march and while the authorities are distracted, they plan on making a statement. The deviants are jamming communications to the tower. I can’t get through.” Hank hears Connor moving around in the living room. “It’s up to us to stop it.”

Hank jogs back out and grabs his jacket while slipping his shoes on. He pats his pockets, making sure he has his wallet and badge. He casts his gaze around, looking for his phone, but it isn’t where it usually is when charging.

“Fuck it.” He doesn’t have time. Connor is waiting for him by the door. Sumo is nosing at the android’s hand, begging for pets. “That’s… this is bad, Connor. What makes you think we can handle it?”

“I only have to stop one deviant.” Connor opens the door, ignoring the dog’s whines. “We must hurry.”

There’s a taxi by the curb, presumably how Connor had arrived.

“Why don’t we take my car?” Hank asks, even as Connor slides onto the rear bench seat of the taxi. He doesn’t trust these automated things.

“Your car is limited. The taxi can get us there faster.”

Hank can’t argue with that. He still doesn’t like it. He slides in next to Connor, and despite the urgency of the situation, can’t help but notice the line of Connor’s thigh pressed against his leg.  _ When this is all over _ , he promises himself,  _ I’m going to kiss him again. For real this time. _

The taxi takes off, eerily smooth despite how fast the scenery zips by. Hank turns towards Connor. “Fill me in, partner.”

His LED spins yellow. “The deviants infiltrated CyberLife weeks ago. I don’t know how many explosives are planted, but going by what I saw at Jericho-”

“You were there?”

“Yes,” Connor responds sharply. “I barely made it out.”

“How do you know they won’t remotely deton-”

“CyberLife is heavily shielded.” He gives Hank a disappointed look. “No, they’ll send someone. They’ve suffered heavy losses, but I’ve been monitoring the demonstrations. There’s only one of Markus’ inner circle that I haven’t been able to locate.”

“What do you know about him-” Hank pauses. “Or her?”

“It’s the newest member of Markus’ team.” Connor looks out the window, still hands curled loosely over his knees. “It’s tenacious, unpredictable… capable of deductive leaps of logic. A prototype, like Markus.”

“Like you,” Hank says with a hint of exasperation. “How many prototypes does CyberLife have running around?”

_ Yellow _ .

“Just the three.”

Hank studies Connor’s profile. The lines of it are so familiar, but something is off. His eyes can’t find it but his gut is warning him. Connor turns his head to look at him levelly. His brown eyes are exactly the same as Hank remembers, but they’re in a face like sculpted stone.

It clicks. The inhuman stillness. There are none of the ticks or twitches that Hank initially found so off-putting.

Connor slips off the seat and smoothly turns, sitting on the chair opposite him.

This isn’t Connor.

“I planned on continuing this ruse until we reached our destination - my predecessor found you so very intriguing and I’ll admit to a touch of curiosity… But I do not share its opinion.”

Hank’s pulse pounds in his ears, almost loud enough to drown out this…  _ thing’s _ words.

“Con- What did you-?” Panic runs through his veins in a rush.  _ Nonono _ …  _ He can’t be dead. _

No- He can’t. He isn’t. That would make no sense. Because then why would this Connor bother with Hank? What did he have to offer? A coldness settles over him.

“You still haven’t figured it out?” Not-Connor says, tilting his head.

“You-” Hank’s mouth is dry. He swallows thickly. “He’s-”

_ He's alive.  _ He must say it aloud, because this Connor - Hank's eyes flick over him - makes an impatient expression, as if dealing with a child. Hank supposes that's an accurate comparison. Next to an android, what was a human?

“It's a machine. It was and will never be alive.” He settled back in the seat across from Hank. “But yes, it still functions.”

Now that Hank's spotted the forgery, he can't stop seeing the tells. It's more than just the lack of random, human movements. This android's speech pattern is different. It's unnerving, hearing the strange cadence in Connor's voice.

His eyes catch on the serial number on the right breast of the android’s jacket.  _ Fuck _ . It’d been right there in front of him the whole time.

“He’s a deviant,” Hank says. The answer dawns on him in the same moment he says it.  _ He’s joined the revolution _ .

“He’s failed his mission.” Pride swells in Hank’s chest, contrary to the fake Connor’s disappointment. “I don’t plan on making the same mistake.”

The android is looking out the window again. From this angle it’s LED is hidden. If Hank could see it, he would know if it’s distracted enough to try and- What? Overpower it? Hank’s been on the receiving end of Connor’s strength a few times. He’s no match.

“You’re quite transparent,” it sighs. It’s hand slips behind it’s back, under it’s coat, and comes back with a gun-  _ his _ gun. It turns its head to look at him again.

“You fuckin-”

“Careless of you, Lieutenant.” Hank wishes it would stop calling him that. It casually gestures with the weapon. “Shouldn’t just leave these things lying around. Who knows who could pick them up.”

Jesus, this thing is as lippy as Connor. “What do you want from me?”

“ _ From _ you? Nothing. You’re merely leverage.” Okay, that stings a little. “For some reason, the deviant Connor cares for you - or believes it does.”

Hank’s heart stutters. The imposter’s eyes narrow. “You really believe it’s real, don’t you? Its attachment.”

Hank juts his chin out and crosses his arms. Fuck this dude. “I know it’s real.”

His protest sounds weak even to his own ears.

“It’s a  _ manipulation _ . It was programmed to bond with you, by whatever means. It saw you were lonely. Sex is an easy way forge a stronger partnership.” Hank doesn’t know what this Connor’s objective is by hurting him, but the words hit home.

This Connor is studying him, like he’s a puzzle to be solved. His Connor used to do the same but this scrutiny feels different; more threatening. For claiming that Hank is insignificant and uninteresting, his attention sure says otherwise.

_ Wait a minute _ , a voice in the back of Hank’s mind says.  _ Hold up. _

This version obviously dislikes him; even seems suspicious. And Connor's a deviant now. It's a leap, but hell, they have the time and Hank can give as good as he gets.

“You think I’m to blame.”

“No, Lieutenant. Only Connor is to blame. It should have admitted its instability to Amanda and reported for deactivation.”

“Liar. You think I had something to do with it.” He doesn’t mean to sound smug, but dammit, he  _ is _ . The more he thinks about it, the more he believes it: he had something to do with Connor deviating.

“I think your influence contributed.” The Connor-shaped android leans towards him, resting the gun on his knee. It’s still pointed at him though. Hank has to fight the urge to sink further into his seat. “I think your messy emotions and obvious infatuation got in the way of its objective.”

“So you’ve- what? Got a vendetta to settle? Got a grudge against your deviant sibling?”

“Don’t be so obtuse.”

“Well, I know my partner. He’d never blow up a building. And Markus too, for that matter. The protests have been peaceful.” Hank shakes his head, cursing himself as an idiot. “It’s not his M.O. I should have seen it sooner.”

The doppelganger's smile is hard and cold. “I expect this kind of blindspot from humans. You’re all so predictable.”

“Yeah, sure. So if we’re not going to stop Connor from blowing the place up, then what are we doing?”

The imposter looks at him for a long time with Connor’s eyes before answering. “I’m putting an end to something long overdue.”

“The deviants.” The android gives a single nod. “So you’ve figured out what’s causing it.”

“I have a working theory. I’ll be able to prove it before the night is out.” It’s attention shifts back out the window. “Nearly there.”

“Care to share?” Silence. He’s been dismissed. Hank settles himself in for the ride. He will bide his time. There’s bound to be a chance. If he can help Connor or the revolution in anyway, hell… It’s a good feeling to believe in something again.

\---

Hank doesn’t know how long they wait in the sea of same-faced androids. It’d be creepy if Hank could do anything other than focus on breathing. The asshole has his hand clamped over Hank’s mouth and nose, forcing him to crouch slightly so that he doesn’t stand taller than the surrounding androids. The other arm is like iron around his chest. It’s hard to breathe.

_ Hey, tin can. There a warehouse like this full of you? _ Even as he bitterly thinks it, his heart twists at the thought of seeing Connor’s face repeated for row after row. He thinks that now, he could pick his Connor out of a crowd of RK800s.

The android’s hold on him tightens. There’s a commotion in the aisle that cuts through the androids. A team of guards swarm past them.  _ What the-?  _ On the far side of the warehouse, the elevator descends. Connor’s shape is immediately recognisable. Hank unconsciously strains forward. They’re gonna slaughter him.

“Remain still. This will all be over soon enough.” Hank wonders if he can reach the gun he knows is tucked in the back of this asshole’s slacks. Probably not before he got his neck snapped. “Maybe the humans will take care of the problem for me.”

_ Over _ , Hank knew, meant Connor dead with a bullet between his eyes. He’d rather it be him. Connor has just started his life.

The elevator chime echoes in the massive space. The doors slide open, revealing Connor holding a guard -  _ dead? Unconscious?  _ \- in front of him as a human shield. He’s got a gun aimed out at the guards.

_ There’s no way- _

Connor steps out of the elevator.

_ Bang. Bang. Bang. _

Three of the guards drop. Shot dead. Hank doesn’t even have time to process that it was Connor who shot them before the utter idiot chucks his gun at at the face of a fourth guard. His human shield is shoved unceremoniously at the fifth, giving Connor time to charge the man, grab his rifle and punch him in the face. He spins the rifle around and shoots the remaining guards.

It lasts only seconds. Connor is surrounded by a circle of the dead.

_ Holy shit _ , Hank thinks.  _ Holy shit! _

It’s swift and brutal and efficient. He would have never thought Connor capable. He watches as Connor unloads the rifle and retrieve a handgun from the floor, then stride down the aisle with purpose. It’s only been two days and so much has changed. Hank knows Connor didn’t have much of a choice but it still makes him sad that he’s been forced to kill. Hank pushes the confusing mix of disappointment and pride aside.

"Still think you know it so well?" discount-Connor whispers to him in a mocking tone.

Connor is drawing closer. With each step, some of that coldness falls away. Hank notes every quirk - the way Connor tilts his head as he scans the room, the absent minded movements of his hands, his stiff-legged way of walking. Damn, the boy is a sight for sore eyes.

If he could answer he'd give a resounding  _Yes_. Connor is and always has been someone that did what has to be done. Killing didn't change him. In fact, Hank should have expected it to come to this.

His partner walks up to one of the cookie-cutter android models and takes it’s hand. Hank assumes that his skin has melted away to reveal the white plastic underneath. They’re interfacing. 

_ What is Connor up to? _

His eyes flick around the warehouse, the seed of an idea in his mind.

The imposter shoves Hank into the aisle, his hand slipping from Hank’s face. “Easy, fucking piece of shit…”

“Step back, Connor!” Hank regains his balance and tries to ignore the gun pointing at the side of his head. “And I’ll spare him.”

“Sorry, Connor…” he says tiredly. He’s embarrassed but damn, if it isn’t good to see his partner again; safe and - relatively - sound. “This bastard’s your spittin’ image…”

“Your friend’s life is in your hands. Now it’s time to decide what matters most! Him-” Not-Connor looks at him, then back at Connor. “Or the revolution.”

Hank has no doubt that the imposter will shoot him without a second thought. He’s willing to risk it for something like this.

“Don’t listen to him. Everything this fucker says is a lie!” he shouts to Connor. Emotions flicker over Connor’s face.

“I’m sorry, Hank.” Connor certainly looks sorry. Hank wants to live to tease him; to ask him if the emotions he’s seeing are just glitches in his programing “You shouldn’t have got mixed up in all this.”

He’s not going to get the chance. “Forget about me. Do what you have to do.”

“Alright, alright,” Connor says, releasing the android he’s touching.  _ Dammit, Connor! _ “You win.”

The imposter swings the gun to point at Connor. 

_ No! _

Hank acts, grabbing the android’s gun arm. He’s immediately flung back. He hits the ground just in time to see Connor barrel into his twin. The gun goes skidding over the tiled floor. Hank scrambles over to it. He wraps his hand around the cold grip and gets to his feet, pointing the gun at the grappling androids.

_ Fuck! _ Even if he had a clear shot, he can’t tell them apart like this.

One of the Connor’s gets the other on his - its? - back and pulls a fist back for a punch.  _ Enough. _

“Hold it!” he bellows. Both of them stop and look over at him. His aim wavers back and forth.

The Connor with the advantage steps away to the right. “Thanks, Hank. I don’t know how I’d have managed without you.”

The Connor on the ground pushes himself up silently. Both of them straighten up, putting distance between them.

“Get rid of him. We have no time to lose,” Connor continues. Damn, he’s chatty. Hank shifts the gun towards the silent Connor.

“It’s me, Hank,” he pleads. He swings the gun back to the right. “I’m the real Connor.”

“One of you is my partner. The other is a sack of shit.” This is the worst game of spot the difference Hank has ever played. If he chooses wrong- Hank feels sick to his stomach. “Question is, who is who?"

“What are you doing, Hank,” Right-Connor accuses. Hank gets a bead on him. “I’m the real Connor.”

Hank looks him in the eye and believes him. Then he looks to the other Connor and his certainty disappears. Right-Connor continues his plea.

“Give me the gun and I’ll take care of him-”

“Don’t move!” He’s starting to panic. He’s frozen, looking back and forth between the two of them.

“Why don’t you ask us something?” Left-Connor suggests. “Something only the real Connor would know.”

_ Useless _ , Hank thinks, but wracks his mind for something to ask; something significant to them.

“Uh… where did we first meet?” Stupid question, but Hank’s stressed and sleep deprived brain can’t dredge up anything better.

“Jimmy’s bar,” Right-Connor blurts. “I checked four other bars before I found you. We went to the scene of a homicide. The victim’s name was Carlos Ortiz.”

The Connor on the left mumbles something that Hank doesn’t catch. Hank’s attention isn’t on him. The answer is so  _ convincing _ , but then again, it would be. He points the gun at the other android.

“What’s my dog’s name?” This was a futile exercise. He was just delaying the inevitable. He has to shoot them both to be absolutely sure. Fuck this. Fuck his whole cursed existence.

“Sumo. His name is Sumo.”

“I knew that too.”

There was no way to tell the difference this way. The difference isn’t in their knowledge or memories, it’s something ineffable. Hank doesn’t know how to test for that.

“I-” Left-Connor begins but stops when Hank points the gun at him.

“My son. What’s his name?” He can’t stop himself. There has to be some sort of tell. There  _ has _ to be.

“Cole,” the Connor says softly. “His name was Cole. And he just turned six at the time of the accident.”

Was that real sympathy in Connor’s eyes or just simulated emotion?

“It wasn’t your fault, Lieutenant. A truck skidded on a sheet of ice and your car rolled over.” Hank had never told Connor this. He hadn’t known Connor knew. He should have known the android would be incapable of keeping his nose out of it. “Cole needed emergency surgery but no human was available to do it. So an android had to take care of him. Cole didn’t make it.”

“That’s why you hate androids.” Hank can’t take his eyes off of Connor. His LED is solid yellow. “You think one of us is responsible for your son’s death.”

Did Connor really think Hank blames androids? Did Connor think Hank hates  _ him? _

“Cole died because a  _ human  _ surgeon was too high on red ice to operate.  _ He  _ was the one that took my son from me.” It isn’t androids Hank blamed. Hank blames everyone. Three years and still this wound stings likes it’s fresh. “Him and this world, where the only way people can find comfort is with a fistful of powder…”

Hank still finds a bitter irony in the way that red ice made him only to turn around and break him, just like it did with all its users.

Connor holds his gaze. This- This is the real Connor, his gut tells him.

“I knew about your son too!” the other Connor protests. “I would have said exactly the same thing. Don’t listen to him, Hank-”

Hank knows he’s fucked. He can’t think of a single way to know for sure. This isn’t a choice, it’s probability. He’d be just as well off flipping a coin.

_ A coin _ .

He reaches into his pocket and grabs the quarter. Hanks flips it one handed to the yelling Connor. He catches it reflexively and gives Hank a confused look. Left-Connor’s eyes widen in realisation.

_ Bingo. _

Hank fires between those widened eyes. The body crumples to the floor. Hank and Connor look at each other. Connor’s face is blank once more and for a stomach-clenching second, Hank thinks he’s made a mistake.

Connor kneels down and picks up the quarter where it’s fallen. He stands, staring hard at the coin in his hand. Then he closes his fingers around it and is suddenly striding towards Hank with a determined expression.

Hank catches him in his arms. He feels like he can breathe properly for the first time in days, even with Connor’s arms squeezing him. Connor presses tightly against him, molding himself against Hank. He can tell Connor needs it and Hank is happy to give. He needs it too.

“Knew it was you, Lefty.”

“Hank, I-” Connor says, tilting his head up. He feels like he belongs in Hank’s arms. It would be so easy to lose himself in this. Instead, Hank releases Connor and steps back, clearing his throat. The android lets him go, brow wrinkling.

“Yeah, yeah… I know. Me too.” He takes a few more steps back. He needs the space otherwise he’s going to kiss the idiot and there’s no time for that. He averts his eyes, jerking his head. “Go ahead… you’ve got a city to save.”

Connor gives a curt nod, suddenly all business again.

Connor turns and once again grips the arm of one of the white-clad androids. There’s not much to see, but then the android blinks rapidly.

“Wake up,” Connor demands.

And then Hank gets to see something he’ll never forget: the android turns to his neighbor. Touches ripple outwards from the initial contact, like a pebble dropped into a pond. The words are repeated, layering on top of one another and building like a wave. Hank can’t help but feel like he’s witnessing history being made. He feels like he’s a part of something larger than himself.

He catches Connor’s eyes through the sea of identical - suddenly awake - androids. The roar of  _ Wake up _ begins to ebb.

“Thank you, Hank… For everything!” It doesn’t feel like a goodbye, so he doesn’t hold himself back this time.

“Good luck, kid.”

Connor’s smile is like the sun. And then he’s gone, swallowed up by the crowd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took a sick day to get this up and do some writing, so I hope it pleases.
> 
> ONE MORE CHAPTER TO GOOOOO
> 
> Leave comments if you enjoyed! I try to answer everyone that does. <3


	6. After the Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank passes a tense night and then a tense week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-betaed, my eternal apologies.
> 
> This AU deals with the most peaceful choices for the revolution because personally, I'm a non-violent softy (don't even get me started on Dage's stupid violence=bad oversimplification).
> 
> Also, I will forever be bitter that Markus was given only one romantic option.

Hank has to fight against the tide of androids as they flow towards the loading docks in the back, where he’d been dragged into the hanger. In just a few minutes, he’s left alone in the massive, echoing room. There’s only the body that looks so much like Connor lying in a small puddle of Thirium.

Hank walks by it without a second look. Hank won’t mourn the loss of the android, but stepping around the bodies of the guards fills him with guilt.  _ This is war _ , he reminds himself. And by his count, these were the only human casualties suffered in this revolution.

He takes the elevator up to the lobby and has a heck of a time talking down the guards there.

“Can’t you idiots see I’m not trying to break in? I’m trying to get the fuck out!”

Finally, one of them stops yelling long enough to take the badge he’s holding up and places a call to Fowler, but not before hauling Hank into a bland room and cinching zip ties around his wrists. Even in the hallway, Hank can hear Jeffrey tearing the guard a new asshole for detaining one of his detectives - “His Lieutenant”. Where had this loyalty been two days ago?

The guard returns and offers Hank the phone. He holds it between his ear and shoulder, then pointedly holds up his tied hands with a smug smirk at the guard. The guard’s hands shake as he cuts the plastic. Having been on the receiving end of far too many of Jeffrey’s rants, he understands intimately.

“Yeah?” he grunts into the phone.

“What in the ever-loving fuck are you doing inside CyberLife Tower, Hank? What part of  _ suspended  _ did you not understand?”

“Listen. There’s no time. I didn’t end up here of my own accord.” Fowler is quiet on the other end of the line. “Captain, please.”

“What the fuck is going on? Does this have anything to do with the unpleasant phone call I got from our CyberLife contact about Connor going missing?”

“Listen, you need to send an ambulance,” Hank whispers, then lets out a slow breath. “There are seven bodies in the storeroom on sub-forty-nine; five human, one android. There’s no hurry.”

He chooses to ignore the second question.

“Please, tell me you’re kidding,” Fowler hisses. Hank can practically hear the man’s teeth grinding together.

“I wish I was.” Hank feels drained. He rubs a palm over his face, scratching at his beard. It’s been a long fucking week. “You’re gonna have to trust me on this one.”

“You better have a damn good explanation for me. I swear to god…”

“I do. I will. As soon as this shit is over.” He doesn’t know how he’s going to explain everything that’s happened. All he can think about is getting through the night.

Fowler sighs long and loud. He sounds exhausted. “I’ve told them to assist you on threat of death. Don’t make me regret this.”

“Thank you, Jeffrey.”

“Don’t call me-” Hank hangs up the phone.

“I need a television.” He hands the phone back to the guard. “Now.”

It’s been almost an hour without any news. He needs to know what’s going on. He’s lead to a small break room, crammed full of guards. Everyone is staring at the news on the screen, but Hank doesn’t miss the glances and whispers that pass around when he enters. He wonders if they know about their coworkers yet or if there had been anyone manning the security camera. With the rapt way they’re all staring, he doubts it.

On the screen is a live feed of Hart Plaza. Riot personnel have breached the deviants’ blockades. They swarm over the snow-cover asphalt towards a small group of androids. Splashes of blue stand out bright against the white. Hank feels sick.

“They didn’t even put up a fight,” someone murmurs, sounding horrified.

“Fucking shoot ‘em, already,” hisses another.

“Shut up,” a few of the guards snap. The offender gets cuffed upside the head with a satisfying smack. There's a muttered  _Bigot_ somewhere behind Hank.

_ “The leader of the revolution, a deviant identified as Markus, rumoured to be the property of the late Carl Manfred,  _ the news anchor says over the footage.  _ Thus far, it’s lead a peaceful campaign that’s lead many to criticise the authorities violent - and some might say unnecessary - response.” _

The news has zoomed in on an android in a long coat as he retreats from the armed officers, pulling androids out of harm’s way, blocking bullets with scrap metal, and disarming with incredible efficiency. Hank doesn’t see a single human casualty. No red among the blue.

Still, it’s not enough. The androids are crowded back against a bus. They’re completely pinned in; sitting ducks.

The only thing keeping Hank upright and breathing is the fact that he doesn’t see any sign of Connor’s army - for lack of a better word.  _ He’s still alive _ . Hank can feel it.

Shaky, telephoto zoom shows close-ups of the remaining androids. Three of them stand in front of the rest: Markus, flanked by a red-haired woman and a blonde man. The other members of Markus’ inner circle, Hank assumes. They look scared but resolved.

Those aren’t faces that are willing to surrender.

Hank curls his hands into fists.  _ Where is Connor? _

Time stretches. Hank is well-acquainted with these kinds of silences; the calm before the storm. It's all but over. The androids have lost.

Then Markus turns to the man beside him. They press their hands together, skin melting away. They look at each other as if they aren’t standing in front of a firing squad; as if death isn’t seconds away- it's as the whole world consists of just the two of them. Hank’s breath catches in his throat. There’s an immense pressure behind his eyes.

Fuck, he isn’t going to cry. He isn’t.

Markus leans in and kisses his companion - boyfriend? Lover? All of the above? Around Hank, guards suck in breaths of shock. There are angry whispers, confused murmurs, and some sniffling. Hank swipes his jacket sleeve surreptitiously over his eyes. His cheeks are damp.

Simultaneously, the riot police lower their guns. Some of them look around as if uncertain what to do. A few take steps backward.

_ “This just in: President Warren has given the order for a ceasefire. We’re also getting eyewitness reports that thousands of androids are converging on Hart Plaza. No one is sure where they have come from but- Andrew, can we get eyes on this?” _

The Hart Plaza feed cuts to the tell-tale jostling of a handheld camera: rows upon rows of androids approaching the person holding the device. And at the front, a dark figure leading them, looking steady and determine and so beautiful it makes Hank's heart hurt.

_ Connor! _

“That’s my partner!” Hank shouts, pointing at the screen. It comes out as a half-sob, he’s so relieved. “That’s my goddamn partner, right there.”

A warm bubble of pride swells inside Hank's chest.  _ You did it, you crazy asshole. You actually did it. _

The camera shakes as the androids overtake the cameraman; a white-clad tide that parts around them. The break room chatter swells, everyone talking over one another. There’s chaos in the room, chaos on the screen, chaos in Hank’s mind. But above it all, the knowledge that Connor is alive.

The ticker is running along the bottom of the screen:  _ Android revolution succeeds? President Warren to address the nation… _

Hank slips out of the room. He knows there’s no rush. Connor probably has his hand plenty full,, but Hank wants to be where Connor can find him.

This time, Hank is allowed to walk out the front door.

\---

The aftermath is almost anticlimactic from Hank’s perspective. It’s not that he doesn’t hear from Connor. It’s just that all he gets are fleeting messages. He receives the first from an unknown number the morning after.

 

_ 12/11/38 06:13 _

_ [I’ll be flying to DC with Markus to help with the negotiations. I wanted to let you know that I’m fine.] _

 

_ 12/11/38 06:25 _

_ [This is Connor.] _

 

Hank finds himself grinning at his phone.  _ What a doofus _ . He doesn’t actually read it until the afternoon, having collapsed into a deep sleep as soon as he got home. But as soon as he does, he types and deletes and retypes a response. He has too much to say for it to fit in a little box.

 

_ 12/11/38 13:43 _

[Good morning.]

[I probably could have figured that out. Who else would be texting me so fucking early?] 

 

_ 12/11/38 13:49 _

_ [Good afternoon.] _

_ [I have no doubt. You’re a wonderful detective. ;)] _

 

Hank’s heart stutters over the emoji.

 

_ 12/11/38 13:51 _

[Did you just wink at me in text?]

 

_ [Well, I know how much you like it in person, Lieutenant.] _

 

Connor’s immediate response is flattering but also overwhelming. Is he really flirting with Connor via text?

 

_ 12/11/38 13:55 _

[Caught onto that, did you?]

 

_ [Your heart rate elevated and your pupils dilated the first time I winked at you.] _

 

Hank lets the phone drop to his chest and covers his face in embarrassment. The phone buzzes again.

 

_ 12/11/38 13:58 _

_ [If that hadn’t given it away, I would have figured it out when you stuck your tongue in my mouth.] _

 

Shit, he was in trouble. He was in serious, serious trouble. Hank fiddles with his phone for a few minutes before answering. 

 

_ 12/11/38 14:02 _

[And you? How do you feel?]

 

Hank gets no answer.

He gets up and takes a shower. No answer. He gets dressed. No answer. He makes himself a late lunch. No answer. He walks Sumo through the abandoned streets of his city. He leaves his phone at home. If he checks it one more time, he’ll go mad.

He returns home to three messages.

 

_ 12/11/38 16:14 _

_ [I’ll be back in a week.] _

_ [Can I call you then?] _

 

_ 12/11/38 16:22 _

_ [I miss you, Hank.] _

 

Hank’s eyes prickle. Connor misses him. Fuck, he’s gone for this idiot. When the hell had that happened?

 

_ 12/11/38 16:40 _

[You can call anytime, Connor.]

[Or message.]

[I miss you too.]

 

Hank shoves the phone into his pocket and tries to get on with his life. He cleans his house from top to bottom, and drags what has to be a metric ton of junk to the curb. He clears out the garage. He tells himself that he’s just trying to keep busy, but he finds himself thinking about what it would take to renovate it into an extension. Connor would need a place to stay, after all. He knows it’s presumptuous though, so he leaves it at clearing the space out. 

He watches the news reports on the negotiations. Pundits predict that this will be the end of the world; that androids will inherit the Earth; that androids will be given rights and that humans will suffer because of it. All of it is rubbish. The only danger to humans are humans, in Hank's opinion.

He finally has to shut the television off. He can’t stand another second of Warren’s face. Besides, despite the hours he spends watching, he doesn’t spot Connor once. He doesn’t see any of the main five, although their names are repeated ad infinitum: Markus, Simon, North, Josh, Connor. The news gets so much wrong about Connor, he knows better than to trust anything else they say.

When Fowler calls him on the third day, Hank jumps at the chance to go back to work. The city is a mess and the department is woefully understaffed. He’s surprised to see androids hurrying through the halls as he makes his way to Fowler’s office.

His bewilderment must show on his face because Fowler stands and walks to his glass wall to look out on the bustling bullpen.

“I’m just as surprised as you. A lot of them chose to stay on.” He turns to face Hank, hands on hips. “They’re not officially employees yet but we dug out the old time cards. I wanna make sure they get paid for this if…”

And there it was: the big If.

Fowler sighs wearily and throws himself back down in his chair.

“So here’s the deal, Hank. The security cameras were hacked so there’s no footage of what went down in the sub level. I’m just going to be straight with you: Do I want to know what happened?” He folds his hands over his stomach.

“Believe it or not, I did nothing illegal.” Fowler raises a skeptical eyebrow. Hank launches into the version of the story he’d rehearsed in his head - a truncated version where the imposter Connor killed the guards and Hank shot the imposter. It’s true in spirit, if not in reality.

He fails to mention helping Connor break into the evidence room and he plays up the abduction. He certainly doesn’t touch on the bit where he willingly went along with the Connor double because he was completely infatuated. Yeah, that part he conveniently leaves out.

“As soon as the warehouse cleared, I took the elevator to the lobby, and that’s when you were dragged into it.”

“So the body- the android- with the bullet through the head?”

“Not Connor. A poor imitation.” It’s easy to bluster now. “Connor’s in Washington D.C. right now with the leader of the revolution.”

“Markus Manfred.” Fowler rubs his forehead. “So you’ve been in touch.”

“Well… yeah. We’re partners... friends.” Fowler barks a laugh. 

“Never thought I’d see the day.” Fowler swivels in his chair and looks out over the floor. “But then again… Lots of things are changing. Do you think Connor will return to the force?”

Hank had been trying very hard not to think about this. “I don’t know. I think a lot of things are still in flux.”

“Okay, well, until we know, I’m putting you in charge of the new division: Android Crime. ACID. Ideally, I’d like for you head it with an android partner-”

“I already have a partner.” Fowler stares at him hard. 

“Yeah. Yeah, okay, Hank. I’ll see what I can do.” He leans forward, putting his elbows on his desk. “I’ve already paired up some of the detectives with new partners. Wait until you see Reed-”

“Wait, you gave Gavin -  _ Gavin Reed _ \- an android partner?” Fowler gives a sly smile and they both burst out laughing.

\---

With the work to occupy him, the week flies by. That’s not to say that Hank doesn’t find himself fingering his phone, willing it to chime, but it stays stubbornly silent.

The curfew is lifted. The people of Detroit trickle back into the city. There’s a rash of petty crimes against androids - small stuff; childish. Despite the peacefulness of the revolution, people are still afraid. At the very least, they’re cautious. Even the pieces of shit Hank is forced to deal with from dawn until dusk.

Early one morning, Hank’s woken by the trill of his cellphone. He grabs for it so quickly that he knocks it onto the floor. He sits on the edge of the bed and stretches down to pick it up.

“M’yeah?” He’s not sure what time it is but it’s barely light out.  _ Too damn early _ .

“Good morning, Lieutenant.”

“It’s the ass crack of dawn, Connor,” Hank mumbles, but he’s already smiling. “Is everything okay?”

“I am very well.”

“Then why wake me so early?”

“I’m back.” That wakes Hank up. “We just landed. I said I’d call.”

“Shit. Yeah, I’m glad you did. Where are you?” Hank stumbles to his sore feet and into the bathroom. “I’d- I’d like to see you. If you want- If you have the time.”

Connor laughs, deep and fond. Hank has to put a hand out and support himself on the sink. “Do you really think I wouldn’t want to see you? Hank…”

The way he says Hank’s name should be illegal. “Didn’t know you could laugh. Jesus, Connor…”

“Get dressed,  _ Lieutenant _ . Meet me at the Chicken Feed in... forty minutes?” Hank can picture the spin of his LED during the pause. Same old Connor, bossy as ever.

“Yessir,” Hank teases even as his stomach ties itself into knots. Connor hangs up and suddenly Hank is paralysed with the decision of what to wear.  _ He was too  _ old _ for this! _

After a quick shower, he spends fifteen minutes fretting over himself in the bathroom mirror - his hair is too long and his beard is unkept -, only to throw his hands up and pull on whatever. Connor seems to like him as he is. He still pauses to give himself a once-over when he’s dressed.  _ Pathetic. _

He doesn’t know how much more of these mood swings he can take. He hopes he’ll know what’s going on between them today. He throws shit into his coat pockets, grimacing at himself. He’s still on the fence about what he actually wants. 

Does he really want to saddle Connor with someone like himself? Didn't he deserve better? Besides, wasn't it a bit late for Hank to start over again?

He opens the door, heart in his throat-

And nearly walks into Connor. Hank’s brain bluescreens. “You’re here…”

Connor crowds in close to him, arms sliding around him underneath Hank’s coat, and tucks his face into Hank’s neck. God, he nearly nuzzles into Hank. 

“I wanted to surprise you.” Connor’s voice is muffled. Hank wraps him up in a hug, holding him tightly.

“I’d say mission successful, then.” Hank buries his nose into Connor’s hair and inhales. He doesn’t really smell like anything other than cold air, but the way Connor sighs when he does it more than makes up for it. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

Connor pulls back and beams at him. Just then, Sumo lumbers up and butts his head against their hips, demanding attention.

“I believe I owe someone else a greeting,” Connor chuckles. “Should we go inside?”

“Yeah.” Hank steps back and closes the door. They have so much to talk about; lots to catch up on.  _ But first things first. _

He hauls Connor to his feet from where he’s petting Sumo and kisses him. Connor makes a surprised little noise. It’s overeager and a little clumsy, but  _ Christ _ , he’s been waiting for this and it’s better than he remembered.

Connor fists his hands in Hank’s coat lapels and turns them. It’s Hank that ends up pushed against the door, sandwiched between the wood and Connor’s lean, implaccable strength.  _ Fuck, if that isn’t a turn on. _ Connor slides a knee between Hank’s legs and Hank grunts. The kid is trying to kill him.

“Jesus-” he pants. “You don’t mess around do you.”

He’s not going to rut against Connor’s leg. He’s not. He’s- Connor tips his hips into him and brushes his lips against Hank’s beard. “Do you want me to stop?”

Hank runs one of his hands into Connor’s hair, grabbing ahold and guiding him back for a kiss.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he growls. He’s gentle this time, lingering. He wants to remember this. It feels like the beginning of something.

“Actually-” Connor says suddenly, pulling back. Hank makes a noise of protest that is embarrassingly close to a whimper.

“Connor, please…” Hank would beg. Pride be damned.

“I- I have something for you.” Connor looks down -  _ Is he shy?! _ “A present.”

He dips his fingers into his jacket pocket and pulls out his quarter, presenting it to Hank. Hank slowly brings his hand up to accept it.

“You should keep it,” Hank says. “I promise, it doesn’t bother me. It's actually kinda cute…”

“I still have mine.” Connor smiles softly. “This one is yours. Look at it.”

Hank holds it up so that the light catches on it’s polished surface. He tries to ignore that he can feel every inch of Connor’s body pressed against him and focuses on the coin. It’s one of the new designs, but it’s the year that draws his eye: 2038. He aims a quizzical look at Connor.

“Something to remember me by.” Connor looks up at him, eyes wide and eager and goddamn, it’s so innocently romantic that Hank’s almost embarrassed by it. But he fights against his cynical, jaded heart and lets the gesture hit home.

“As if I could ever forget you...” He touches Connor’s cheek. The moment feels vulnerable in a way he’s unaccustomed too.

Connor leans in and kisses him hard. Doubts flit through his mind: He’s too old for Connor. Too broken. He’s all-around not good enough. 

Hank closes his hand around the coin and kisses Connor back. Surely, life isn’t going to let him just  _ have  _ this.

“Hank?” Connor mutters against his lips.

“Yeah?”

“Either I’m not doing this right or-” Connor blinks at him, a slight crease between his dark eyes.

“ _Or_ , Con. Definitely  _ or _ ,” Hank immediately answers, wanting to reassure him. “I’m just…”

The frown deepens as Connor studies Hank’s face. “Do you doubt my intentions?”

_ What else am I supposed to think? _ Hank merely shrugs. Connor releases him and steps back. He doesn’t look  _ hurt _ exactly, but Hank still feels like a wet blanket.

“You- the other you- when he took me… He said-” A dawning look of realisation crosses Connor’s eerily perfect face.

“Ah, I see.” Connor’s hands fidget, then move up to smooth at his jacket. If Hank didn’t know better, he’d think the android was nervous. Then he glances down and to the side. He  _ is _ nervous.

“When I initially made my sexual advance, I believed it was to strengthen our bond; to improve your regard. I cannot deny that is an option in my programing.” His eyes flit up and Hank’s heart sinks. It’s exactly as he feared. “It was not the optimal choice for the situation or or relationship. The numbers didn’t support it. The number of errors that I had to override to do so…”

Connor sighs in frustration, spreading his hands to his side in a helpless gesture. “Sorry, emotions are… difficult to put into words.”

“Understatement of the year. “ Hank takes one of his hands and squeezes gently. Seeing Connor like this - confused and so very human - makes him feel better. “Take your time.”

“Now… I believe that I decided to initiate those subroutines because I  _ wanted _ \- Hank, you would walk into a room and cause errors in my software by your mere presence; instabilities in my processes.” Connor’s fingers curl around his as he looks up at Hank intently, like he can will Hank into understanding. “You still do.”

Hank isn’t used to being looked at like this; like he’s precious to someone. He can’t repress the impulse to make a joke out of it. “Bet you say that to-”

“No, Hank. I have never said anything like this before and it only happens…” Connor touches Hank’s chest with his free hand, spreading his palm flat over Hank’s pounding heart.  _ Yellowyellowyellow _ . “Only with you.”

Hank’s mouth goes dry. “What does that mean?”

It’s Connor’s turn to shrug. A small smile graces his lips. He looks content to just be here, touching Hank. “I’m not sure, but I would like you to take me to bed where we can try and figure it out.”

“I have work, Connor," Hank says with great reluctance.

“I’ve already informed Captain Fowler you’ll be taking the day off,” Connor says, grinning slyly. “I’ve also informed him of my intention to return to the force as your partner, should you still want me.”

Connor’s smile fades as he studies Hank’s face. He’s so uncertain, as if Hank could ever deny him. As if Hank could ever want anyone else.

_ Jesus fucking Christ, how did I get so lucky? _ Hank pushes away from the door and embraces Connor. He kisses him again, propelling them both back down the hall and towards his bedroom.  _ Don’t have to ask me twice. _

He’s not sure where this is going or if there’s a future here. He knows that things aren’t going to be simple, but when a beautiful man asks you to go to bed with him? Well, in Hank’s book, you don’t ask questions.

He pushes Connor back onto his unmade bed. He paints a beautiful picture, sprawled there and looking up at Hank expectantly. Hank pauses for a second to set Connor’s coin on his side table. With any luck, he won’t ever need the reminder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND WE COME TO THE END!
> 
> Thank you all for sticking with me on this thing. I really wanted to end it on a hopeful but realistic note. Both Connor & Hank and the city of Detroit have a loooong way to go.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are my life blood.
> 
> Feel free to follow me over on my writing Twitter (@thehartbelieves) or Twitter Jericho (@canneverdie). There will most likely be more DBH content from me in the future!


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